


the pedal's down, my eyes are closed

by flonkertons



Series: a lightning in your eyes [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Other characters in minor roles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3556961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You're the one with the Masters funding." He says it like he already knows, is already using it as the whole basis of her personality. "I'm Bellamy Blake."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Nice to meet you," she lies through her teeth.</i>
</p><p>Clarke Griffin is the newest member of the Classical History Review and Bellamy Blake is at the bottom of her list of people to befriend. Well, she's been wrong before. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the pedal's down, my eyes are closed

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow, I started this around two weeks ago because I was sick of studying for midterms and as it kept getting longer, I kept despairing more about it. I'm SO SORRY it's this long. I have no idea how it happened and this is definitely the longest thing I've ever written in any fandom. I'm not very happy with it, but it's ~34k and I don't want it sitting around anymore. I hope that it's a fun read, because when I wasn't being my harshest critic, I really liked writing it. Also, massive disclaimer for any fuck ups with the history in this. I'm a history major who hates classical history. Another disclaimer for using the University of Virginia as the campus mentioned in here without any research done into the buildings or layout. I just needed a name and that was the first one I thought of. And another disclaimer for discrepancies in other information. I'm writing what I know but I don't know much.
> 
> PS. Bare with me as I try to fix some of the formatting because I guess AO3 fucks up gdocs' tags

**AUGUST 2015**

 

Clarke's pretty sure they've been talking shit about her when she steps into the room because their conversation stops just short of her first step into the doorway. There's three people in the room at the moment (none of them are Finn, thank god at least) and they are all staring at her. She vaguely remembers looking up the staff page on the Review's website, but that was weeks ago and she's never been good with names. She tries not to flush under the attention so she just introduces herself stiffly.

"Clarke Griffin. Classical art." There's a small awkward silence that ensues before one of them gets out of his chair to shake her hand. He has short cropped hair, a beard, and a neutral expression, but he's also the first one to respond to her so he's got to be nicer than the others (or just more willing to break the silence).

"Hi, I'm Miller. Byzantine empire," the guy – Miller of the first or last name variety – says, a bit brusquely but Clarke can tell it's not intentional. She shakes his hand firmly and he smiles at her. He walks back to his desk and Clarke's left in hand-shaking, introduction limbo as the other two don't move forward and she doesn't know if she should make the first move or not. After a quick internal debate, she does.

"Hi, I'm Cl –"

"Anya," the only other woman in the room says sharply, her face schooled in the same unimpressed look as Clarke had seen it when she first walked in. She doesn't offer anything else besides that, which leaves Clarke to stand there a bit dumbly, her hand still outstretched. Clarke draws her hand back and refuses to blush. Instead, she turns to the other guy in the room, who is reclining back in his chair, his arms crossed, and his expression slightly amused. It automatically annoys her, because she already hates introducing herself to new people, but these are supposed to be people she's going to work with for the rest of the year, and she hates that she's already made a bad impression. It makes her feel like she's lost even more footing with this group, who has worked here longer and already know each other.

The guy seems to remember his manners finally, though, because he stands up and walks over to her, his own hand outstretched. He's not much taller than her, but he has broad shoulders and an intimidating presence immediately. Quickly, she takes in his dark curls, a display of freckles, harsh eyes. "You're the one with the Masters funding." He says it like he already knows, is already using it as the whole basis of her personality. _That_ , obviously, annoys her even more. "I'm Bellamy Blake."

Clarke ignores her fleeting annoyance and shakes his hand firmly as well before quickly letting go. "Nice to meet you," she lies through her teeth. She doesn't bother to confirm his statement about the funding, because she doesn't know what he's talking about, and she's not about to get on the bad side of her colleagues this early in her time here. (It's honestly only been about five minutes.)

"All of you," she quickly amends, turning to smile at Miller and Anya as well. Anya's already back to her computer screen but Miller nods and asks her if she's had a tour. It's a lot easier talking to Miller, even though he doesn't say a lot, but it helps her get settled much faster than she would've had she only encountered Anya and/or Bellamy. Miller shows her to her own space in the office, which is unfortunately the desk across from Bellamy – he gives her a mock salute when she sits down – and explains what the normal routine is.

There's no set schedule, as they generally come in whenever their class schedules permit them, so that's why there's two other editorial assistants not in the office today. (She does _not_ reveal that she already knows one of them; her plan is to ignore Finn as much as possible whenever he does show, and maybe if she's lucky enough, his class schedule conflicts so much with her time in the office that they won't even cross paths.) There's a lot of solicitation letters and emails to be sent out to dissertation authors, book authors and reviewers, professors, asking them for interviews, subtly reminding them of impending deadlines for submission and review, and double checking on relevant information, so there's always something to do, and a lot to be shared.

Bellamy is the senior editorial assistant and they would technically all report to him if they had any real established hierarchy at the Review but mostly, what his unofficial title gives him is the role of overseeing the final reviewing and editing processes. All of them – Clarke, Anya, Miller, Finn, another girl named Monroe, and Bellamy – take part in cross-reading every week, in teams of two or three. Bellamy has to make sure each cross-reading session is completed when it's scheduled. Anya keeps track of the overall schedule of issues, which is fucking chaotic already, because they're three weeks behind even though they're working on the next quarterly issue. Miller and Monroe are in charge of solicitation letters and reminder emails. Finn technically does more copyediting than participates in the overall editing process. Clarke, Miller informs her, will do a bit of everything. Since she's the rookie, that's her job.

The introduction tour and information dump takes about half an hour, and Miller's the only one who's actually conversing with her the whole time. Sometimes Bellamy jumps in to make some side comment – she thinks he even calls her "Princess" one time, but she's not sure – and Anya continues to look unimpressed and intimidating. When it's over, she's sitting at the desk across from Bellamy, a stack of papers in front of her as she sets about proofing some of the latest author interviews.

Clarke's considering this a relative success of a first meeting – at least, there's no forced icebreakers to endure – as she fixes a comma when Bellamy starts talking. It takes her a few seconds to realize it's to her. Marking her place with her pen, she manages a smile on her face that's only 10% forced and asks him to repeat whatever he said.

"Tell us a bit about yourself, classical art." He's reclining back again and she feels an urge to get up and kick the legs of his chair. She doesn't, of course.

"Well, first off, my name's _Clarke_ and I'm _interested_ in classical art, which is the broad focus of my research –" She whirls around when she hears Anya's voice from the desk behind her.

"Is Vera Kane your supervisor?" Anya asks without looking away from the email she's composing. When Clarke replies that yes, Vera Kane was her supervisor and she's been incredibly lucky to have her throughout her time at UVA, Anya nods shortly. "She's a good professor. I was her TA for her Greco-Persian culture class last semester." Clarke is visibly excited now, which elicits a laugh from Miller, but she doesn't care.

"I took that class last year and it was incredible, the usage of metal and ceramics in spreading the Achaemenid styles has always been something that I've wanted to explore further, and Vera actually helped steer me in that direction."

Anya looks a little less unimpressed now, her attention even turned away from her email. "Good on you, Griffin. She's an excellent mentor in that field."

Clarke wants to launch into a full scale discussion about it, but Bellamy interrupts her before she can. "Is that your research then?"

"It's a small part of it, but I'm looking more into the receptivity of the Greek world with other empires and cultures and the cultural exchanges that occurred between them. So I'm looking at not only Persian styles but also Buddhist art, for example. A lot of scholars focus on the influence Hellenistic art has exerted on other parts of the world, but they don't address the influence they received _from_ those other parts of the world." Her dissertation topic is something very close to her heart, ever since she took her first Greco-Roman art history course back at Stanford and realized how much more she wanted to learn about it. Normally, she would feel embarrassed to go on so much about her research, especially since most people don't expect a long explanation when they undoubtedly asked just to be polite. (Her mother's friends are definitely of this sort.) But she's literally at the _Classical History Review_ , the foremost historical journal in the nation when it comes to classical history, and she has a feeling that they are genuinely interested, even if Bellamy Blake seems a bit off-putting. When she finishes her explanation, Bellamy is also nodding, the genuine interest that Clarke guessed at evident on his face. She wonders what his dissertation is on – was on, maybe, since she's pretty sure he's not around her age. He looks older, and since he's been here for presumably the longest – given his unofficial title – he's probably at least already gotten his Masters.

Eventually, Bellamy gets drawn back into an email he's composing and Clarke has three more interviews to proof. She's on the last paragraph of the penultimate interview when Thelonious Jaha, editor of the Review, walks into the office and greets her happily.

"Clarke, it's nice to see you all settled in! I had hoped to show you around earlier, but I was stuck in meetings all day," Jaha looks apologetic but Clarke waves it off because it's no problem. "I suppose you've already been introduced?" She nods, not adding that it was a very awkward introduction.

"She's the Masters program girl," Bellamy suddenly pipes in and Clarke narrows her eyes at him. That's the second time he's referred to her like that and she's not even sure what he _means_. If he was just pointing out her degree path, it wouldn't sound so... derisive, which is exactly how Bellamy has sounded both times he's called her that. She must have a confused look on her face as she contemplates this because Bellamy goes on. "You know, the allotted spot for the arts program, the one that bankrolls your gig here."

She finally pieces it together, although she's still confused as to why it's such a big deal – "I don't get it, how's it any different than funding I'm sure _you_ got for _your_ research?" She has a hard edge in her voice. She doesn't know anything about Bellamy Blake – just his name, his job here at the CHR, and that he maybe goes to UVA – but she'd be willing to bet the same program funding he mentioned that he got money for his Masters too.

Flippantly, he answers, "Sure I did, but I applied for that."

"So did I!"

"I'm not the one who knew the editor beforehand." He fixes her with a hard stare and Clarke is so frustrated suddenly. Sometime during this exchange, Thelonious has slipped out, which is all the better, because she doubts he wants to be dragged into whatever this is going to become.

"So, what? Nepotism at work? I did _not_ get this position out of nepotism! Jaha knows my _mother_ and she certainly didn't put in a good word for me, she doesn't even –" Clarke stops abruptly and shifts tracks. She's only known Bellamy – and Anya and Miller for a grand total of about three and a half hours – and she's not going to be spilling any of her baggage now, or anytime at all. "Whatever you _think_ , you're _wrong_ ," she finishes heatedly, the grip on her pen tight.

"What I _think_ , Princess," Bellamy shoots back, "is that you knew Jaha already, applied for the position, didn't _need_ a good word from your mother or whoever because as soon as he saw it was your name on that application with your department backing you with funding we needed, no one else was even up for contention."

Clarke is fuming. All her life she's gotten these sorts of comments, the _'oh, you're Dr. Griffin's daughter? I'm sure your mother will put in a good word for you'_ reassurances, even after she dropped her pre-med program during sophomore year of her undergrad and decided to pick up art history instead. Even when she's worked her way to her bachelor's of arts, applied to graduate schools her mother would disapprove of, she's still taunted by the kinds of accusations Bellamy's throwing at her. Almost jarringly, she flashes back to when she stepped into the office, when their conversation had abruptly stopped. This must've been what they were discussing; there had been no guilt on their faces, but the judgment was there, most especially on Bellamy.

Bellamy looks _smug_ , as if he's won the fight.

"Fine," Clarke finally says. The look on his face gets more smug, an eyebrow raised in victory. She hates it. She hates him. If he's going to pre-judge her, she'll happily make her own snap judgment of him. "You say I only got in because I'm connected to Jaha? That I'm just here because of the money I'm bringing to the Review? Then it's just as easy for me to go somewhere else with this money too." It's an empty threat because she doesn't want to work anywhere else – the CHR is an extraordinarily prominent journal, it's one of her favorite publications, and it came highly recommended from Vera Kane herself – but if Bellamy's so concerned about money, then she'll give him a reason to be concerned about money. There's a slight shift in his expression, a slight betrayal of the quick panic that passed through him. It's Clarke's turn to feel smug; it was so _easy_ to make him panic. There's a more reasonable part of her that's telling her to stop, that she's just playing into his negative impression of her, but if he's going to be this stubborn about it, she can play it up.

Bellamy says quietly, slowly, "Like I'm surprised your first solution is to bring up money."

"Let's get something clear, you were the one who brought it up first. Oh, "Masters funding girl, this, Masters funding girl, that." Doesn't exactly sound like I'm the one who's obsessed about it. And you know what, I'm not that much of a bitch to revoke funding even if I _could_ control it, and I'm _not_ an idiot to pass up on an opportunity like the CHR. So how about you just keep your snide comments about whatever money I do and don't have and whatever connections I do and don't have to _yourself_ and I'll keep my steady urge to slap you to _myself_. Got it?" Clarke fixes him with a glare and both of them sit in tense silence before he nods sharply. When he turns his head, she notices a muscle in his jaw tensing and she counts it as a victory.

There's a slightly ill feeling that follows her when they all pack up and leave for the day a bit later, one that she knows is because of the way she _played_ into his hands, into his beliefs about her, but she has always been good at compartmentalization and decides from then on that even though she has to work with Bellamy Blake, she won't give him more than the minimum attention to get through the job.

 

\-----

 

If she goes home that night and Googles him, it's only because she needs to be informed on her enemy.

 

Bellamy Blake. University of Virginia undergraduate, bachelor's of arts in History and Communications. Northwestern University, graduate, Master's in Classical History. Dissertation: "The Legend of Troy: Beyond the War and into Boundaries of Nation-States" (published 2013), Committee: Diana Sydney, Ben Shumway, Callie Cartwig, Franklin G. Scott, Northwestern. Editorial Assistant at the Classical History Review.

_"Bellamy Blake is a second year Ph.D. candidate at the University of Virginia, currently working on an expansion of his dissertation on the city of Troy and its influence in borderlands history of new nation-states. He is a contributing member of the Roman History Fellowship and a member of the Organization of Classical Historians."_

She hates herself just a little bit when she finds his dissertation and saves it to read at a later time.

 

\-----

 

When she goes into the office the next day after an advising meeting/catch-up with Vera, Finn's in there, sitting at the desk adjacent from Bellamy's and her desks. She's sorely tempted to pretend she had classes all day and just wait Finn out, but _no_. There was a reason she accepted the job despite knowing Finn would be here, despite him breaking her stupid heart and making her feel like shit for about a year, and that was to let him know that she was doing _fine_ , that she wasn't weak, that she wasn't going to let him _win_. She doesn't care about his numerous apologies because nothing excuses making her the other woman and not telling her about his _long-term girlfriend_ a town over and trying to convince her to stay. She does care, however, about this job and her career and her research, so not even Finn Collins can scare her. Besides, she sees Miller there and another girl who isn't Anya – Monroe, probably – so there's at least two buffers between her and Finn.

She strolls in nonchalantly, perhaps too much so – Wells had always told her that the easiest way to tell if she cared about something was if she looked like she didn't care about it – and sits down at her desk, immediately turning to the stack of papers that's already piled up beside her. There's a sticky note on top: _You won't take away funding if I make you read more interviews, will you? B_ and Clarke glares at the pink piece of paper before crumpling it up. She reaches for a sticky note of her own and scrawls, _I thought I told you to keep your comments to YOURSELF_ and reaches across her desk to slam it down onto Bellamy's. If the other occupants of the room hadn't noticed her before, they would've heard that.

Finn's the first to say something. "Clarke! Hey, I heard I missed you yesterday, how –"

"I'm fine. Hi, Finn," Clarke says quickly, intervening before he gets a chance to go on and on. Her posture is stiff and she's trying to avoid his eyes; she just knows that's trying to get her attention that way.

"Hey, Clarke," Miller greets, and she turns to him in relief.

"Hey! How are you?" If Miller notices the difference between her tone with Finn and her tone with him, he doesn't comment. Good man, that Miller.

"Good. So Bellamy's gonna be in a bit later today, but he left some things for you to look over," he gestures at the papers that she's already seen. He nods at her acknowledgment. "And this is Monroe." He gestures at the woman sitting across from him. She looks friendly enough.

"Yes, I just go by Monroe," she says as a greeting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Finn moving up from his chair and probably making his way towards her. She turns back to him, levels him with a look, and points to the papers beside her. "Finn, I'm busy. I don't really know Bellamy well, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who wants things done when he says they should be done. I'm sure we'll have time to catch up later." _Not if I can help it_ , she adds internally. He looks disheartened, but Clarke doesn't give a shit about what he looks like. She imagines Miller and Monroe exchanging curious looks, but doesn't look back to check. She just takes out a pen and turns to the first interview at hand.

 

Bellamy comes in about an hour later, his bag slung over his shoulder, his dark hair tousled. He's carrying a plastic bag that he plops down on his desk. Clarke's on her seventh interview now, the words have blurred together more than once, and she needs to stretch soon. He's crouched over his desk, looking at something – the sticky note, she realizes.

"You never specified the parameters of our agreement," Bellamy merely replies, smirking at her. He crumples up the sticky note and tosses it at her. She dodges skillfully.

"It was a _given_."

"Whatever, classical art. Want a cookie?" He's uncovered whatever was in the bag, which was a ziploc bag of chocolate chip cookies. She frowns at him. "O, my sister, made some last night and had a lot of leftovers. Said I could feed my army of workers."

"We don't work for you, Bellamy," Miller intones, sounding bored and very familiar with this, as if it's routine for Bellamy to lord his position over them. It probably is, Clarke thinks.

"I'm offering you baked goods, Miller."

"No offense, but Octavia's baked goods aren't as good as Monty and Jasper's."

"First, wrong, and second, Octavia's aren't _illegal_."

"You're right, they're only illegal _sometimes_ ," Miller corrects, cocking his head at Bellamy. Bellamy flips him off. He turns to Clarke.

"How about it, Princess? Do you want some perfectly legal cookies?" He dangles the bag in front of her and she rolls her eyes. They look great, but she's not going to entertain his teasing. She ignores him and focuses back on the words in front of her, even though she's so tired of reading about archaeological digs and picture archives and cartography.

"What's with the 'Princess'?" Finn cuts in, sounding annoyed and _territorial_. Clarke closes her eyes and wonders why God's cursed her with this life. It's enough to deal with Bellamy because she can easily put him in his place, and she can _handle_ Finn, but it'd be so much better if he just... never talked. Or showed up anywhere she was.

"Oh, you don't want us to go through this again," Bellamy says, then takes a bite out of a cookie. He shakes the cookie at her and she throws a paper clip at him, which comes up short of hitting him.

"Almost had a huge fight here yesterday," Miller adds. "Bellamy got his ass handed to him, of course." The comment is worth Bellamy's indignant look.

"Excuse me, _Nathan_ , that didn't happen at all. A mere disagreement and –"

"And you learned when to shut up, right?" Clarke says, smiling sweetly at him. He scowls at her.

"The _point_ is, it's my special term for Griffin. Why? Jealous I thought of it first?" He raises an eyebrow at Finn. "It _is_ very hard to believe that no one's thought of it before. Am I the first?" He directs the question at her, waiting for her to either answer or maybe punch him. For Clarke, it's a toss up too.

She clenches her teeth before saying, "Oh, people have tried and failed, much like you will." She doesn't mean it as any kind of message to Finn, and she _knows_ Bellamy didn't mean it as a barb either, not at Finn at least, but he seems to take it as a comment directed at him.

"Clarke, c'mon, can we talk?"

She has to count to ten before she does something stupid like toss the bag of cookies at his face.

"No. I said I was busy. I have a lot of work to do."

"Clarke..."

" _Busy._ Work." Finn shuts up after that, tossing an aggravated look over at her (or at Bellamy, she's not sure). Bellamy looks much more interested than he was when he first walked in.

_'The most valuable source for my research was the collection of correspondence between the two siblings. It had been retired from an old exhibit the Museum of Roman Antiquities had displayed a few years prior. I had been made aware of it from a colleague of mine, Stephanie Hillesheim, who had been to see the exhibit when it was open; when she found out about my research interests, he mentioned the letters, and I'_

A sticky note is pressed onto the top of her desk. Bellamy's typing something, his attention completely focused on his computer screen, but it's not as if anyone else could've stuck that note on her desk like that.

She looks at it. It reads: _PRINCESS + FINN HISTORY?_

She makes a big show of ripping up the note and she doesn't miss the upturn of the corners of his mouth.

 _Go fuck yourself_ , she writes on a sticky note of her own and sticks it to the back of his computer.

 

\-----

 

**SEPTEMBER 2015**

 

Adjusting to the CHR isn't too hard. Despite the lack of set work hours, there's a general routine to the day, governed by how impending a deadline is. They're still behind on the next quarterly issue, but seeing as they're ahead of the overall deadline, the atmosphere is still light. Adding Clarke onto the team has helped with the workload too – she doesn't just bring in her department's funding, but also an entire department's worth of contacts, which helps fill in some of the blanks that existed in the layout of the issue.

Finn hasn't tried _too_ much to initiate contact, helped by her quick evasion of him at every step (for example, one time she pretended she had a very important question she had to ask Jaha, which ended up being a 45 minute meeting where he tried to subtly ask her if she and her mother had reconciled yet. Which, for the record, was no.). For two days out of the week, his class schedule keeps him out of the same days she's in the office, and he finally seems to understand that she doesn't want to talk to him. Clarke makes sure she is never alone with him for more than five minutes, always pairing up with any of the others, even _Bellamy_ , if there's a task she needs to do with someone else. True to her promise to herself, she's done a great job at ignoring Finn Collins.

She and Bellamy haven't had another big fight or argument since she first started, and she doesn't count their sticky note battles as anything serious, so the harmony of the team is still working out. They still don't see eye to eye on a lot of things related to the Review (what articles to include and who to contact) and they are _consciously_ making the effort to avoid their landmine issues (her money, her background, his incessant judgmental _aura_ ), but things could get worse.

 

The whiteboard in the corner reads: _16 DAYS WITHOUT A BELLAMY AND CLARKE FIGHT_

(Followed by Bellamy's "fuck off" and Clarke's doodle of a girl decapitating a boy's head.)

 

16 days is a feat for them, as despite even their best efforts, they butt heads. Clarke knows she's new at this and Bellamy's worked here for the past two years, but she thinks he's set in his ways and he thinks she's out of her depth. When they really get into a fight, they end up arguing over every little thing ("It's not like it's a damn secret that the Review's been siphoning readership over the years! You clearly need to change something up!" "It's not _siphoning_ readers, what the fuck, read a damn dictionary!"), sometimes bringing up senseless issues just to push back at each other (see: Calibri Hassle of 2015), and sometimes bringing up off-topic issues to hurt the other.

Bellamy's an honest to god open book who Clarke can read easily because he doesn't keep what's important to him closed off from public knowledge. Clarke likes to think of herself as the opposite, but somehow he always manages to hit right on the dot, especially after she idiotically decided to tell him part of her life story (the part about her mom's constant disappointment with her career path and their tentative truce on holidays). These come in the form of snarling remarks, small comments about how he has a fucking chip on his shoulder, that his inferiority complex makes him overcompensate, that she's just doing this history thing as a way to get back at her mom, because if anything, she can obviously afford to blow thousands of dollars on anything she wants. These are the worst fights and it always takes them a few days to overcome their shared stubborn streak and apologize in mumbled fashion.

She ends up developing a habit after their worst kind of fights. She orders Chinese, curls up on the couch in her and Raven's apartment and furiously tears through Bellamy's dissertation. It's cathartic to underline passages where she thinks he's gone too prosey, where he just sounds smug and know-it-all, and pretend it's not as well-written, well thought-out, well-researched, and rhetorically persuasive as it really is.

After the appropriate apologies are doled out, Clarke always has something to comment on about his dissertation, and (after she gets over the shock the first time) he always listens to her critiques, even the petty ones where she's just pointing them out to goad him, almost in a friendly manner.

 

\-----

 

Aside from handling the deadline of the next quarterly issue, the other important date on the CHR's calendar is the upcoming Organization of Classical Historians annual meeting. Every year, all the historians associated with the OCH are invited to the four-day conference to present recent papers and research findings, listen/learn from their colleagues, and snap up opportunities for extra funding. As with all academia, the part people focus on most is the chance to schmooze for money.

Also the food's great. This is corroborated by numerous accounts and descriptions of said food by various people. Honestly, whenever they start talking about the conference, it derails into a discussion of what food will be provided this year.

It's in Indianapolis this year – a lot of groans accompany this fact when it's brought up – and Bellamy's supposed to be presenting some panel where he updates his research supervisors and mentors about his progress in turning his dissertation into a book, addresses new findings, and reassures the grant foundations that he'll be done by his publication deadline. If Clarke didn't dread this own aspect of her future so much, she'd be laughing every time someone asks him about it. (One time on a particularly bad day, Miller passed along a message from his graduate supervisor, someone named Byrne who also sat on Bellamy's research board, that was not subtle in reminding him of his July 2016 manuscript deadline. Bellamy bit his head off and didn't return to the office for three days. Clarke found herself almost worrying until Monroe shrugged and told her on day two that Bellamy did that sometimes, would take days off to cool down, but mostly carry out all-nighters to write his book. There was an understanding that the rest of the team would handle the CHR's workload in the meantime – everyone at some point in their research had taken days off the CHR to speed-write their dissertations. Bellamy returned on the fourth day out, grumbled an apology to Miller, and tossed him a box of donuts.)

Clarke's been operating under the assumption that she's not attending since no one's ever talked about it like she's _supposed_ to attend. People direct talk about the conference to Bellamy – for obvious reasons – or to Miller and Anya, so she's learned a lot about the past conferences they've attended, but no one's ever gone, "Hey, Clarke, how's your schedule April 14-17? Up for a quick trip to Indiana?" It's a pretty big event, so she figures that's kinda how it should go.

They just stare at her when she offers that as her reason for why she hasn't registered for the event.

"Did you want a hand delivered invitation or something?" Bellamy asks, looking both skeptical and amused across from her at the cross reading table.

"Don't you _start_ ," Clarke gripes.

"I mean, he's got a point," Miller says. "Everyone is going."

Clarke sputters a bit. "I didn't know that! Only you and Bellamy talk about it! Anya's really going? _Anya_? Monroe _never_ mentions it! And if Finn's going –"

Bellamy waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, 'I won't go if Finn's going,'" he says this in what she assumes is an imitation of her voice, but she so doesn't have that high of a voice. "Are you ever going to tell us the story behind you and Collins anyways?" Clarke fixes him with a glare which doesn't seem to deter him a bit. When she goes home tonight, she's going to work on it.

"It's none of your _business_ and besides, you really don't want to get involved –"

"Never said I did." Clarke narrows her eyes at Bellamy now, while Miller looks on half amused, yet still more interested in whoever he's texting. At this rate, the cross reading is never going to be finished today.

"Then why did you _bring it up_?"

"Technically –"

"Oh my god," Clarke exclaims, throwing her pen at him. "We are not going to argue about technicalities! You asked first and I gave my answer! Stop prying." He's holding the pen she threw at him with such an offended expression that it immediately thaws her frustration and she suddenly breaks out into laughter. He looks even _more_ offended after that, but after a while, Bellamy eases into a sheepish smile. Miller's looking like he wishes he wasn't associating with them.

"Sorry," Bellamy says, "I shouldn't have pushed." She gives him a small smile, then shrugs.

"Water under the bridge. I didn't know I was expected to attend the thing."

Miller finally stops texting to say, "It's like a CHR tradition. Plus, we gotta go to support Blake."

Bellamy throws her pen at Miller, a scowl on his face. "I don't need _support_ , much less from you, I'll be fine. And ready."

"Relax, Bellamy, we're not the board. Stop being so diplomatic," Clarke reassures him, although she never thought she'd see the day "diplomatic" was used to refer to Bellamy Blake. Before he directs his scowl at her, she claps her hands together. "All right! I guess I'll register for the thing tonight. Do I need to do anything special? What are we doing about transportation? Do I have to get my own transportation? And hotel? Are we –"

"Princess," Bellamy cuts in. "We've got months to figure that out. Just register first."

"You say that _now_ , but it'll be April in 6 months and I bet in 6 months, you'll have forgotten to arrange everything and then we'll have to hitchhike to Indiana and there won't be any places with accommodations ready, and then try telling me we've got months to figure it out." Miller and Bellamy exchange looks.

"Do you want to be in charge of the arrangements, Clarke?" Bellamy asks, sounding like he's afraid she'll launch into another long rant if he says anything else. It makes her smile knowing that Bellamy's a little afraid of her.

"God, I thought you'd never ask." Miller and Bellamy exchange another look, this time with relief, and she smiles brightly at both of them. "Well? We were on the fifth paragraph, right?" The three of them finish the cross reading only 45 minutes behind schedule.

 

\-----

 

**OCTOBER 2015**

 

Clarke's 24th birthday falls on a Tuesday, a windy, but still fairly warm day in October, and when she walks into the office, ready to complain about a professor to whoever was willing to listen, Raven is sitting in her chair surrounded by a battalion of balloons. Her legs are propped up on Clarke's desk and she's throwing paper clips at Bellamy, who for his part, is alternating between scowling at her and trying to catch them. Clarke knows Raven's spotted her because she lets out a loud, "BIRTHDAY GIRL!" complete with hands thrown up in the air. This causes Bellamy to turn his scowl into a triumphant grin, Miller, Monroe, and Anya to turn their heads toward the door, and Finn to start towards her. Clarke stomps over to Raven and pulls her out of her chair.

"Raven," Clarke hisses. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, birthday girl," Raven answers, easily, even as she's being manhandled out of the chair. "See the balloons? They're for you. I blew them all up for you. Well, I got people to do it, just some people I conned into doing it, but it's the thought that counts and all that shit, right?" Clarke groans again, shoving away a few balloons out of her way.

"This is Raven Reyes," she intones, gesturing from Raven to the others. Then, from the left side to the right, "Anya, Monroe, Miller, Bellamy, and you know Finn." Raven doesn't seem to pay her introduction any attention, still grinning widely at her.

"Clarke Griffin," Bellamy says slowly, holding onto a balloon. "After all we've been through… all we've done together, all we've _conquered_..."

Everyone rolls their eyes. Bellamy ignores them, or actually doesn't notice or care, "You don't tell us when your _birthday_ is? I, _WE_ have to find out from some third party –"

"Hey! Best friend here!" Raven interjects, punching Bellamy's shoulder. Clarke's been on the receiving end of one of Raven's punches, even light ones, so at least Bellamy's grimace is an appropriate response.

"From some _third party_ ," Bellamy says stubbornly, with a glare that would normally send someone quaking in his boots, but this is Raven after all. "Aren't we _friends_?"

" _We_ aren't," Clarke points out. As she's found out, Bellamy's a very expressive person, so it doesn't take an expert to see his face shift into something akin to hurt. She immediately feels bad; it was more of a joke than the truth – if she was pressed to admit it, she would say they were friends of some sort. She hurries to correct herself but Bellamy's moved on. The guilt lingers in her stomach.

"As _friends_ ," Bellamy breezes by, "You should've told us your birthday so we could've thrown a party for you."

"Do you normally do that?" Anya makes a noise that Clarke interprets as a yes. Clarke gives in.

"Hey everyone, today's my birthday!" Raven beams at her, Miller whoops, Monroe wishes her a happy birthday, Anya gives some semblance of a smile, and Finn's even restraining himself with just a smile. Bellamy looks pleased, his arms crossed with a small grin on his face. He nods at her.

"Great! Now, you are all invited to an impromptu birthday party tonight at The Ark, come anytime after 9." Clarke shoots Raven a look, trying to communicate _You know I hate parties_ and _Even Finn?_. Raven cocks an eyebrow: _Suck it up, Griffin. Yes, even him._ Raven's a force of nature, good at taking charge and getting her way with Clarke, but even if she wasn't, Clarke would've agreed because Raven's her best friend and she still feels guilty about the whole Finn thing.

After Raven pulls Finn aside to talk outside the room a little while later, she returns and tells Clarke that she'll be back later to pick her up so that she can't run off and miss her own party. Clarke's offended that she's considered a flight risk, but then again, she did spend her last birthday party hiding out in her room. Fair enough, Reyes.

They don't get much done that day – between them singing happy birthday to her, Monroe somehow scrounging up a birthday paper crown and making her wear it (and enduring Bellamy's teasing taunts of her nickname), and she and Finn finally having a civil conversation, they've just resigned themselves to an unproductive day. (It's definitely going to suck making it up later.)

Clarke finds a sticky note in the pocket of her jacket when she's getting ready to leave, Raven waiting for her outside by honking obnoxiously, and smiles to herself.

_HBD, Princess.  
Your friend, B_

 

There's a lot of people she doesn't know at her party. Somehow, Raven's managed to snag The Ark all to themselves – Clarke doesn't want to ask because she's not sure if it's legal or not – so it's an entire bar to their whole group, which has expanded from just her and Raven, to her, Raven, the CHR team, to her, Raven, CHR, and anyone else they know. The end result is a bunch of strangers coming up to her, either drunk or almost there, yelling happy birthday and hugging her. She's pretty sure the only reason they know she's the birthday girl is because Raven forced a sash over her the second she stepped inside the bar, one that reads in gold lettering: BIRTHDAY PRINCESS (Bellamy laughed when he read it, obviously), and gave her a plastic tiara to wear. Clarke would normally refuse, but she's in a good mood, filled with the happy feeling of having her best friend love her this much, and surrounded by a couple of other friends who seem to like her a lot too. Also, a lot of strangers who are at least very nice.

This collection of people keeps her busy for the most of the night and she meets a lot of new people who are friends with her friends. Monroe's friends, Harper and Mel and Maya; Miller's boyfriend, Monty, who comes in tow with his best friend, Jasper; Anya's (Anya, who _actually_ came too, because Anya totally considers them friends! Clarke was giddy on this knowledge for about ten minutes.) girlfriend, Lexa; Bellamy's sister, "O," of the cookies, short for Octavia. They're all really nice to Clarke, although she thinks that one must be obligated to be nice to the birthday girl, but then again, they don't sound like they're being forced to be nice and Clarke is really good at figuring that out, giving her hugs and buying her drinks.

Monty's an environmental science student, who met Miller through a shared environmental history course, and Clarke likes him immediately, tries to coax embarrassing stories about Miller out of him. She almost succeeds too, but Raven had pulled her way to dance before he could tell. Thankfully, Clarke had yelled, "Rain check!" so she would probably get them sometime soon.

She realizes that Lexa's been in a few of her classes because she has an overlapping interest in art, although more of the modern variety, centering her research on wartime art of all kinds. They get along easily because of it, although she feels out of her depth because she doesn't know much about art in war.

Octavia's a wildcard, fun, bouncy, and inclusive, seemingly the opposite of Bellamy, but they share the same frown of disapproval (Octavia at Bellamy, Bellamy at everything) and intense gaze (the Blakes' only way of looking at something or someone, she supposes). She speaks fast when she's excited, wishing Clarke a _happy happy happy birthday you're only a year older than me but we should be friends can we be friends oh my god Clarke you're so pretty_ and Clarke laughs but agrees to the friendship deal, sips her almost-empty drink as Bellamy steers her away from Clarke. He tries to look disapproving at his sister, but the fondness in his face is too much to deny.

She actually doesn't see much of Bellamy, or the others, because of how many people she ends up talking to, which is exhausting, but in a good way. Raven makes her dance a lot too, her seemingly unending energy no match for anyone else. She and Finn manage to have their second civil conversation in one day too, when he buys her a drink and asks her if they can be friends at least. Clarke will blame the tipsiness, but she agrees, warning him, " _Just_ friends." and he accepts it without a complaint. Raven pulls him away after a bit, and even though Clarke doesn't know how she'll be _good_ friends with Finn, she knows that he and Raven have a lot more foundation past his and Clarke's "we met during grad school orientation and thought the other was cute and flirted a lot and then started dating and slept together but then his real girlfriend showed up to surprise him and Finn turned out to be the biggest dick in the world" history.

Finally, around 1 AM – she's gonna hate herself tomorrow when her 10 AM class rolls around – she gets a moment to herself, sliding into a booth in a dimly lit corner. She kicks her heels off, stretches out, closes her eyes and hums a vaguely familiar song as she sips at the remainder of her drink. There's a voicemail on her phone from her mother that she hasn't listened to, she thinks it'd be even better if Wells could be here with her, and it's her sixth birthday without her dad, but it was a good birthday despite all of that. She'll have to thank Raven later, when she's not sleepy and drunk.

Someone slides up against her feet and she opens one eye. It's Bellamy, glass of water in hand, amusement sketched on his face. "Birthday princess," he greets. She flips him off. "Scoot over, it's past midnight so you can't pull the birthday card anymore."

"I didn't pull the birthday card once today," Clarke grumbles, but scoots over so that they're sitting side by side, close enough to touch, but still keeping some distance between them. Bellamy trades her the glass of water for her drink.

"Yeah? Two hours ago, you fluttered your eyelashes at Jasper and asked him to buy you a drink because it was your birthday."

Clarke doesn't remember that, but it was also two hours ago, so give her a break. "I didn't pull it _much_." Bellamy grins, gestures at her to drink the water. If she was less drunk, she'd put up a fight just to fight with him, but she's not and this was nice of him.

"Is the water your present then?"

"It's probably going to be a present you'll like a lot when you wake up later. Besides, you didn't give any of us fair warning to –"

Clarke flaps a hand in front of his face. " _Shhhhhh_ , we don't speak of that anymore. I accept your water." He grabs her hand lightly, brings it down to the table.

"Don't shush me when I'm saying important things, Griffin. You are lucky to have a mentor as wise as me."

She flicks his hand. "You're not my mentor. You're my fr –" She pauses, remembers how earlier that day, she had denied they were friends. "Hey." Bellamy cocks an eyebrow in question. "You know we _are_ friends, right? I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it earlier. Because we are. Friends, I mean. Even if we fight a lot."

Bellamy looks down at the table, then back up at her. He smiles, soft but genuine. She can see that in his eyes. "I know, Princess, because I know better than you about this." She tries to shove him out of the booth, but it doesn't work.

"I won't even dignify that with a response. Can't even let a girl apologize in peace," she mutters to her water. He snickers and they fall into a nice silence. Clarke watches his fingers trace patterns into the wood of the table and takes occasional sips of water. Bellamy has nice hands, she muses, a bit detached in the comfortable mood of his presence. He's tracing the lines of the wood, then drawing stick figures, then looping what she assumes is his signature.

Bellamy Blake. It's a nice name.

"Hey," she interrupts, watching him turn his attention back on her. "When's _your_ birthday?"

"July 16." She can't help but laugh.

"So next year, you have to turn in your manuscript by your _birthday_?" Bellamy scowls at her, but without much force.

"Believe me, I tried to get it changed. Hopefully, I'll have it finished way before then."

"I believe in you," she says simply and he just looks at her appraisingly. The corners of his mouth tick up slightly before he shrugs.

"Thanks, Clarke." There's a very warm, fuzzy feeling bubbling just under her chest. When she's in bed later, already half asleep, she thinks that she likes the way he says her name.

 

Her mood the next day is far from the happy excitement of the night before. She knew she would regret it last night and she should've listened to her instincts. There's no chance of making the 10 AM class, but Clarke has a bunch of emails she needs to reply to and there's three cross reading sessions today to make up, so unfortunately, she has to drag herself out of bed. Raven has always had an amazing tolerance for alcohol; Clarke's never seen her hungover the next morning. There's a glass of water and aspirin on her bedside table, courtesy of Raven, and after a long hot shower, some breakfast, coffee, and another nap, she feels somewhat more human, though there are no promises on how functioning her brain is. She throws her hair into a quick bun and pulls on a UVA sweater. What a start to 24.

She labors up the stairs to the office, opening the door to find most of its inhabitants with their heads on their desks. Only Anya is alert but she doesn't make a move to greet Clarke. Clarke's used to this by now and just waves at her before tossing her bag onto her desk and hurling herself into her chair. Everyone else groans in response to the movement.

"Clarke," Miller's muffled voice sounds. "Why did you have your birthday on a weekday?"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Sorry I didn't consult God to prevent this."

"You should be. I have a class later that I can't even miss," he complains.

"Hey, you're an adult too, you should've known better. I'm not your mom!" Miller just makes intelligible noises in return and Clarke thinks maybe she can sneak in another nap – no one else seems to be doing anything. Well, besides Anya, who has a scarily focused mindset for everything she does.

"Griffin, has Macdonald responded to the follow-up on his article yet?" A quick look at her email indicates a negative. "Get back to him in a week if he still hasn't."

Clarke nods to herself, moving onto a different email. One of them is from Vera, a status update on her dissertation. She skims it; it's nothing new she doesn't know. A very rough draft is supposed to be done by February, she has three check-in point meetings before then, and Vera wants to introduce her to a few colleagues. Clarke is absentmindedly replying to her ( _I'm having trouble with one of my sources but I remember you mentioning a Professor Bonham who could help. Is it all right if I approach him with your referral? Not much progress with the writing, but I think I'm still good with time._ ) when she wonders why Bellamy's not here. He usually makes a habit of coming in every day, since his classes are usually early enough that he has time in the afternoon. Maybe he's taking another writing day.

"Miller," she calls out, her fingers stilling over the keyboard. "Is Bellamy not coming in today?"

"Nah, he texted earlier that he has a few meetings and can't make it in. He didn't tell you?" Clarke shakes her head – she should probably ask him for his number so that he could tell her that himself.

Looking over at his empty desk, papers stacked neatly to the side, desk calendar open with color coded dates marked, and his pens arranged in the cup, Clarke smiles slightly at the sight of how organized he is. She's a mess, not just with her desk (cluttered with papers, file tabs out of place, sticky notes haphazard), but also her apartment and the day planner that usually sits in her bag without much notice. The stark organization without a Bellamy sitting there also throws her off. Sometime within the past few months, Bellamy sitting across from her is part of her routine. It's a bit weird to her – she's sure that he's missed some days before (he had, those three writing days, but that was before she considered him her friend) but the absence is still... out of sorts. It makes _her_ feel out of sorts.

She doesn't like feeling like her routine is thrown off, so she chalks up her intermittent glances at the door to her need to settle that oddness.

Before she leaves – no Bellamy that day – Clarke wanders over to his desk, takes a childish delight in messing with his papers, and sticks a note onto his computer screen.

_friends should have each other's numbers  
BALL'S IN YOUR COURT, BLAKE_

There's also a doodle of a guy ("You!") dribbling a basketball to liven things up.

__

__\-----_ _

__

**To** : Clarke Griffin [cgriffin@chr.org]  
**From** : Bellamy Blake [bblake@chr.org]  
**Subject** : is this a proposition???

434-480-2100

P.S. I'm surprised you didn't just ask Jaha to take a look into my file since you clearly wanted my number so badly

B

__

Bellamy Blake  
University of Virginia 2017  
Classical History Review, Editorial Assistant

__

Clarke to Bellamy: I don't want your number anymore.

 

Bellamy to Princess: tough luck.

__

__\-----_ _

__

Bellamy's really really bad at texting back, as she finds out very quickly. He'll text her for a bit, quick texts after another, and then just forget to reply back until the next day. She can't even count how many times he's texted her "don't hate me i told you i'm a terrible texter" or variations upon that theme. Still, being one of the only people he texts – she asked him once and he's only on regular texting habits with Octavia, Miller, some friends from Northwestern, and herself – makes her feel like she's part of an inner circle.

He always texts her in the middle of his research meetings, especially when he's meeting with other people from his department. She hears all about his mortal enemy, Cage Wallace, whose research on Agamemnon means that he and Bellamy have to collaborate sometimes. There's also some asshole named Murphy (what was with all the last names masquerading as first names) that Bellamy used to be friends with when he first came into the program, but like his description states, he was too much of an asshole for even Prime Asshole Era Bellamy to deal with. Clarke thinks his department's too populated with terrible people and tells him that he better not bring them around to the office.

There's something about texting that makes Clarke more open to share about herself. It's one thing to talk about her tragic life story in person where there's _eye contact_ and pitying looks and another to play it off as no big deal through texts. The thing is, she _wants_ to talk about her complicated family situation with Bellamy, even tell him about how Finn broke her heart, about how her first and longest friend, Wells, died shortly after her father did and she had to take off a semester because she couldn't handle anything besides grieving, about how she had to see a grief counselor for her next semester back. Bellamy is always understanding, never pitying, never pushes past the empathy he radiates for anyone he meets.

It's like a trade for a trade. Something Clarke doesn't know about Bellamy for something Bellamy doesn't know about Clarke.

 _My favorite color is purple._  
_my middle school art teacher had a purple car bc she was so obsessed with purple. is that how you are_

 _i HATE andrew jackson_  
_Do you always have strong feelings about presidents? Other world leaders?_  
_fuck abbott_

 _I'm watching this terrible movie on Netflix and it's reminding me about when my first boyfriend Scott convinced me to go skinny dipping and we almost got caught_  
_seriously?_

 _did u know I used to be a camp counselor?_  
_You may have missed your calling, Bellamy_

__

__\-----_ _

__

When she walks into her Cultural Depictions of War class, she's scanning the back for a seat to slip into, but she stops her search when she spots a very familiar head of hair sitting in the front row talking to a woman sitting next to him. It can't be, she starts to think, except he turns his head at that exact moment and apparently, it _can_ be and her weird skill of identifying him by his hair is still spot on. Bellamy Blake looks well-groomed and handsome in a nice dress shirt. A smile curves his lips, his eyes lighting up when he spots her, and if she can't help but smile back automatically. Bellamy, all neat clothes and professional confidence, only has eyes for her. Clarke spots an empty seat directly behind him (she had been hoping to sit in the back and try to get away with a nap but this works too) and hurries to claim it.

"What are you _doing_ here?" She asks, leaning forward in her chair.

He just grins at her, taps his fingers against her table. "Guest lecture. Don't you pay attention to your syllabus?"

"Funnily enough, it doesn't mention a Bellamy Blake for today's class," she retorts.

"Wanted to see that look of surprise and you didn't disappoint," he says good-humoredly and she scowls. "Not happy to see me, Princess?"

"Not happy that you didn't let me _know_ first, I don't like being ambushed."

"Hardly an ambush. I'm just very wanted by your department," he says simply. She rolls her eyes and then notices the woman next to him.

"Clarke Griffin," she says, holding her hand out. The other woman takes it and shakes it firmly.

"Echo," she says. "We're in the same department." This is accompanied by a gesture between her and Bellamy.

"Sorry you have to work with him, I know how you must suffer," she says, a teasing note in her voice, smiling sweetly at Bellamy to reassure him that it's just a joke.

"This one's the one with the funding," Bellamy just says, giving her a sweet smile of his in return.

"I can't believe you're still on about that," she says, shooting him a dirty look.

"I needed to give you an identifier," he explains.

"Oh, I've heard of you. He definitely talked about you a lot. Always with that phrase," Echo says, cutting in before Clarke was about to hit Bellamy.

"He's an idiot," she mumbles, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You're extra sensitive today, Princess," he says lightly, although she notices a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"Shut up, your lecture better be –" She's interrupted by her professor, who comes strolling in and starts class, introducing Bellamy Blake and Professor Echo Adams as today's guest lecturers. She zones out for a bit while her professor goes on with some reminders about an assignment that's due on Friday, all the while hyper-aware of Bellamy leaning back in his chair. If she reached out her hand a bit further, she could tug on the collar of his shirt. As if he feels her eyes on the back of his head, he turns around briefly and she meets his gaze for a few seconds before she turns her attention back to the professor. He's definitely smirking in the peripheral of her vision. She's going to smack him.

He gets up a minute later, taps his fingers on her table, and heads to the front of the room, greeting her professor pleasantly. Clarke watches him with a veiled interest; she's never heard him speak before, but she knows that he does this enough, especially as he presents his writing to his committee and to panelists. She also knows that he's good with his words, often called to persuade reticent authors to give interviews or write posts for the CHR blog. He's always been good at talking about his work too, at laying out the foundation, at addressing the main points, at answering questions. She sits back in her chair and waits for him to start speaking. When he meets her challenging look, her _Impress me_ call, he winks at her and then turns to face the center. She sits up straighter.

Bellamy does impress her. He's an amazing speaker, confident, eloquent, personable. He seems to know everything there is to know about his topic, and he presents it in ways that make her – and from the other attentive looks from her classmates – want to know more about it. He just connects to his audience, knows how to pick up on lagging interest, knows how to capitalize on piqued interest, knows how to smoothly transition from one issue to the next without awkward pauses or transitional words. He just impresses the hell out of her.

When Bellamy makes his way back to his seat, he's only looking at her, their eye contact never breaking until he has to sit down. Clarke is restless the rest of the hour, even accidentally kicking his seat a few times as a result. Echo is engaging too, but Clarke doesn't pay much attention to what she's saying, because she's too busy watching Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. Unlike her, he's extremely attentive, even takes the time to jot down notes, smiles during random intervals, laughs at the jokes Echo laces in her presentation. Clarke only realizes that she's spent almost the whole of the professor's time watching Bellamy when Echo finishes speaking and is answering some questions. She has to slide back in her chair to snap out of it, ignoring her embarrassment and what she thinks is guilt for not listening to her speak with the same interest as she had with Bellamy.

As the class ends, she gathers her things and joins the file of students heading out the door, but Bellamy somehow sidles up next to her. She looks up, alarmed at first, then relaxes when she sees it's him.

"So? What's your verdict?" He asks and he sounds nervous. It makes her want to giggle a little because she's still getting used to seeing past the arrogance she had first encountered him with to a guy who is actually enjoyable to be around.

"I give it a solid 8 out of 10," she declares. (She's lying, she'd give it a 10 out of 10.)

"You're so hard to please," he says as they round the corner. She remembers that they both have nothing in their schedules except to stop in at the Review, so they're heading the same way.

"I'm very easy to please," she corrects. "You just have a higher bar to reach."

"Lucky me," he deadpans. His arm knocks into hers as they walk. It's nice.

 

**NOVEMBER 2015**

 

It's the middle of November before the compartmentalization about impending deadlines for her dissertation finally collapses. She's supposed to have a first draft done by mid-February and that's just three months away, and that's on top of her classes and the CHR deadlines and she doesn't even remember if Professor Bonham's responded to her request for help. Does she even have an outline? She's pretty sure she needs to shore up like a million more sources. Her panic leads Clarke to a very terrible half an hour spent pacing the apartment, running her hands through her hair and pulling on it in frustration, and a few pens thrown at walls in anger. Once she's got that out of her system – Clarke's anger is usually rational and time-limited (except when it came to Bellamy) – she slumps down on the couch and pulls her legs up against her chest and props her head on her knees. She sighs.

She needs to approach this in a more organized manner.

A mental to-do list: Bonham did email her back. Don't need to worry about complete source list. Have vague idea of outline. Work on outline this week. Talk to Bellamy?

The last item is a fleeting thought, dismissed quickly because she doesn't even know how it came up, but then she thinks about it, and Bellamy's the only one she knows who has a recent experience with a dissertation, plus he's still working with his, and Vera's always telling her to get in touch with people who can provide new insights and approaches to her writing. She entertains the idea again, then puts it on her mental to-do list.

 

"Hey, uh, Bellamy?" Clarke asks the next day, a little shyly, which is embarrassing for her because she's never been shy with Bellamy, but she's also never asked him for help before.

"Hey, uh, Clarke?" He slings his bag across his shoulder. They're getting ready to leave for the day and she's timed it deliberately so that they're the last ones to leave. That way, if he does brutally reject her request, then it'd just be Bellamy with the knowledge that it happened.

"Are you doing anything now or like later or like this week?" She grimaces uncertainly. He looks confused, narrows his eyes slightly.

"Why? Are you –" He cuts himself off, tilts his head the other way to, Clarke doesn't even know, assess her or something. There's a quirk to his mouth and his eyes are curious.

With a gasp: " _What?_ No! I just wanted to ask if you could help me with my dissertation! God!" She's aware she's overreacting a little bit, that she had unintentionally phrased her question in a misleading way, that anyone would've interpreted it the way Bellamy seems to have too. But it makes her face burn, and she feels the warmth reach her ears and the back of her neck, and she walks quickly so that she's ahead of him, trying to will her face back to her normal shade.

Bellamy catches up to her with a grin. "Relax, Clarke. I got it. I can't do tonight but tomorrow's fine. After CHR?"

God, she doesn't know if she's stopped blushing, but she's not chancing it. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained on the sidewalk, her head ducked down. Unfortunately, she's forced to look back up at him when they hit the end of the sidewalk. There's no mocking in his face, just genuine ease and amiability, traits that Clarke's come to associate more and more with Bellamy, and it helps her to immediately soften her stance, loosen her stiff shoulders, smile less tentatively.

(Obviously it doesn't mean she won't spend hours later agonizing over the embarrassment in the comfort of her apartment.)

"Yeah," Clarke says finally, clearing her throat. "Yeah, that works for me. Thanks a lot. I've just been really, just really stressed about it, and I figured maybe you could help since you're working on it so much and… tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," he echoes. He points a thumb in the direction he's headed. Right, they live in different directions. Bellamy touches her elbow as he passes by her and starts walking. He doesn't take more than a few steps before he stops and turns around.

"Clarke!" She blinks. "I'll even be a really good date and buy you a coffee." She doesn't get so much as a second to scramble for something to say before he walks off again, hands tucked into his coat pockets, dark hair a standout against the light of the setting sun. She watches his back for a few minutes, her neck warm again. Her elbow is still hanging awkwardly in the position where he had touched it.

 

\-----

 

True to his word, Bellamy does bring her a coffee, waving it in front of her as he stands behind her. She tilts her head back and then turns around, snatching the cup from him with a glare and a thank you. He's wrapped up in a colorful scarf, his cheeks and nose red from the cold, and he has his shit-eating grin on. Clarke's noticed that this is more of a default expression for him these days. Last night, she had spent way too much time focusing on their last conversation and then berating herself for spending that much time thinking about it, which only led her into a deeper cycle. Raven gave her strange looks the whole time because Clarke had been incredibly restless, moving from her room to the living room to the kitchen, just muttering to herself. When she woke up this morning, she resolved to put it behind her. After all, it had really been nothing – just her making a fool out of herself and him rolling with it.

Anyways.

"So," Bellamy says. Clarke notices this voice; she and Miller call it the business voice because he only uses it when he's on the phone with someone important. It's a little self-important, but gives off the necessary presence he needs to stand his ground against important types. She bets he doesn't even know he slips into it.

"What's the problem you're having?"

Clarke lugs out the numerous file folders and notebooks out of her bag. They make a resounding thud on the table. Bellamy starts rifling through the stack.

"Where do I begin? I guess just…" she trails off, gesturing in front of her. "I don't know. Just how to start. It's so daunting, you know? And Vera's helpful but I can't go to her for every little thing and she has so much confidence in me, which puts so much more pressure on me and –" Bellamy reaches out a hand to grab her hands, stops them from flying wildly in the air during her rambling. He guides them back to the table, squeezes them gently. Relax. Clarke nods.

His hand is still wrapped around hers when he says, soothingly, "It is daunting." Ah, reassurance. He clearly notices her internal thought because he chuckles. "I'm not gonna lie to you about it, but just because it seems impossible doesn't mean it is. Just keep in mind that this is a first draft. You could go explore a completely different track in the second one. The deadlines are there to…" Bellamy takes a bit to think of what to say next, his thumb absentmindedly caressing her knuckles. She has no idea if he knows he's doing that, but Clarke does know, and it's throwing her off but she doesn't know if it's in a good way or a bad way.

"They're more to keep you aware of the finish line." Bellamy shrugs. "So just treat it like a regular paper. If you can't stop thinking about the pressure, use that pressure to guide you. Set your own schedule for your work. It doesn't need to be journal submission quality."

Bellamy's not really saying anything she doesn't already know, doesn't already tell herself, but hearing it from him – from anyone, maybe – grounds her fears and lifts the weight off her chest a little bit. His thumb is still making her skin tingle.

"How long did it take you to write yours? Your first draft?"

He doesn't answer for a few minutes. His thumb even stills. (She's still not sure he's doing it consciously.) Clarke hastens to take it back, even though she doesn't know why, doesn't think that she said anything bad.

"When I started my research," he begins. She notices he's not looking directly at her anymore and she fights the urge to catch his eye. "O had just started college here and I was all the way up at Northwestern and it was the first time we'd ever been so far apart from each other." He pauses; a muscle twitches in his jaw. "And I was having a lot of trouble letting her be an adult. To grow up, you know?" He looks at her for a few seconds, then turns his attention back to a corner of the table. He's not looking for a response.

"And we just fought all the time, over the phone, over texts, over Skype, and I was ridiculously overprotective, I see that now but at the time, I justified my terrible behavior, my constant lectures and restrictions on her, my need to control her hundreds of miles away, on my being worried about her. It was an awful time." Clarke does some quick math, deduces that it's probably been a few years. She doesn't know much about Octavia, has only met her a few times past her birthday party, but she could tell that the Blake siblings had a much healthier relationship than the one he's telling her about.

As if he's reading her thoughts: "We've worked past that now, obviously. The distance helped. Fighting helped a lot, actually." He grins with a touch of irony. "Long story short, when I was writing my dissertation, most of it was just shit. I was using my writing as a distraction from fighting with O, so all my arguments were weak and shallow in nature and I wasn't connecting to my topic even though I loved it. But you know, it was a first draft, and it felt better to have written something even so incomparably bad than to stress out about making it completely polished. And you know, now that I've continued to work on the topic for what is it, five years now? I've found that I go through that process over and over. Kind of cathartic, even. Probably weird, right?" Bellamy has a distant half-smile, turns his head slightly to look at her. She swallows, squeezes his hand.

"No," and she's not lying. "Really helps puts things in perspective." She doesn't just mean about her own research and writing. She knows a lot of things about Bellamy, little facts and stories about him, Octavia's importance to him, but she likes knowing the intricacies about him even more. Likes that his writing is a part of him, just like hers is, and that he has stories to go with it. Most of all, she likes listening to him talk about himself. For all his expressiveness, he's closed off about his past, which Clarke doesn't deny him because as if she's one to talk.

When she meets his eyes, Clarke catalogues the hair curling over his ears, the way his eyelashes fan out, the freckles dotting across his face, a scar right on his upper lip, his strong cheekbones. She blinks first. He speaks after.

"So, I helped then?" There's a lightness in his voice that struggles to win out over a seemingly strangled tone.

She bumps his shoulder. "Don't get ahead of yourself. Have you seen these folders?"

Bellamy fakes a tortured groan, but ends up spending three hours alleviating her worries. His hands stay near hers the whole time.

 

\-----

 

**DECEMBER 2015**

 

Clarke's December goes by way too fast between her writing and rewriting of her draft, the last minute work needed to be done at the CHR, studying for finals, Bellamy's excitement for the holidays (she should've known he would be a big fan of Christmas), and her own fairly successful efforts to pretending Christmas isn't creeping up on her and that there isn't a backlog of voicemails and emails from her mother asking if she'll be home this time.

Bellamy pesters her a lot about everything and it would be annoying if he wasn't just so Bellamy. He's not doing it to annoy her (although, some days she could call this into question), but more because he's very restless and he finished with his final exams weeks before she even had her first exam. Octavia's also banned Bellamy from bothering her during finals week, so it's Clarke who has to sit through his hovering and activity.

"Bellamy, I swear to God, don't you have your own apartment to do this in?" Clarke yells, although the irritation in her voice is only half-hearted. Bellamy pops his head out of the kitchen.

"Clarke, _I swear to God_ ," he mocks, pulling a face at her. "You have to be the only person in the world who complains about someone cooking for them."

"Not true," Raven interjects from her place hanging upside down over the edge of the couch, her ponytail brushing the floor. "What about people who complain because the guy's a bad cook?" She's holding her notebook in front of her, mouthing the words she's reading.

"Fair point," Bellamy concedes. He's leaning against the wall now, his arms crossed over the apron that belonged to neither Clarke nor Raven, and was in fact, his own purchase. Clarke doesn't know how he manages to make an apron look good, but he manages it. "But I'm a good cook. No one's ever complained before."

"Do you cook for random girls all the time?" Raven asks.

"Yes, I make it a habit of cooking for every girl I talk to, even the ones who yell at me." Clarke gives him a look, but then gives in and pushes her Mycenaean Culture During the Dorian Conquest notes aside. Her test is on Thursday, but a girl can only read about the Dark Ages for so long before her brain refuses to go on. And Bellamy's been over a few days this and last week, at first because they had to finish up on production details for the Review, but then it just became a thing. Not a Thing. Just a thing where he would help Clarke study and lose spectacularly to Raven in GTA and sometimes cook for the two of them. Clarke thinks he must be really bored and he must have something better to do, but Raven refuses to let her say no to free food.

She gets up from her chair, walks past Raven and pulls at her ponytail (Raven sticks her tongue out at her in return), and tugs Bellamy's wrist to guide him back to the kitchen.

"You're lucky nothing burned down when you left the kitchen."

"I had an eye on it."

"Yeah, your other eye that wasn't looking at us was keeping track of the food." Bellamy makes another face at her, scrunching his nose and forehead at her. Clarke almost reaches up to smooth out his forehead. An imperceptible shake of her head later, she's walking to the counter, leaning her hip against it as she surveys Bellamy's work.

"What's the menu tonight, Gordon?" Bellamy peers into the oven; when he's satisfied, he grins.

"My mom used to make chicken pot pie for me and O during the holidays and I still remembered the recipe so I thought it'd be a good idea." Clarke nods and fills with warmth at the thought of Bellamy and Octavia having a tradition like this. The only holiday tradition she and her mom shared was having Christmas dinner at the Jahas or the Kanes.

"What if I hated chicken pot pie?"

"Well, since you said 'what if', you don't, and I asked Raven beforehand."

Clarke frowns. "You could've just asked me."

"You snapped my head off the last time I tried to interrupt your studying," he points out. He's mirroring her position against the counter now, looking unapologetic.

Clarke doesn't purse her lips. "It's a stressful time for me –"

"I know," he says, quick to reassure her. He's already shifted into that soothing, dulcet voice he has. "I'm not imposing, am I? Because I can leave, it's just you never said anything before so I thought you didn't have a problem, which was a big assumption, actually, so, and –"

"No, no! I have no problem with it, I was trying to apologize, but honestly, Bellamy, this is really great of you." He looks bashful and it's suddenly one of Clarke's favorite looks on him. He tries to avert his eyes (something she's noticed he does whenever someone gives him a genuine compliment), tries to turn back to the oven, but she grabs his arm. "I'd probably study all night and forget to eat if you weren't here to remind me, us."

He looks both incredibly uncomfortable with this conversation and uncertainly happy at the same time. The result is him rubbing the back of his neck, a smile tugging his lips upward. "It's nothing. I mean, Octavia won't let me bother her so, you know." She know's he's teasing her, trying to lighten any seriousness of the conversation topics, but he looks stricken. "– I didn't mean like you were second place or anything."

Clarke just laughs to let him know she's not taking any offense to it, that she knows he was just joking and he relaxes. She begins opening a drawer and grabs utensils, then gestures at the cabinet with the dishes. Elbowing his side, she says, "C'mon, smooth talker, help me set the table."

 

Raven is always instantly more amenable to doing the dishes after meals that she hasn't had to cook for herself, so she volunteers to clean up after the meal. Bellamy's in the kitchen putting some of the leftover chicken pot pie into their fridge, as well as portioning some into a container that Clarke assumes is for Octavia.

She's standing in the doorway to the kitchen under her loud claim of "supervising you two idiots" but all she ends up doing is watching Raven try to flick Bellamy with dish soap bubbles ("Cute," he even deadpanned, a grumpy scowl across his face.) and thinking that even though she might have a terrible Christmas holiday with her estranged mom, she at least has the rest of the year with these two idiots.

 

\-----

 

There's a mini-holiday party the day before break starts at the CHR, which is apparently another tradition of theirs. Everyone's really big on opportunities for celebrations. There's even a junk drawer of party decorations for any occasion. It's a bit weird to Clarke because she's never liked holidays or parties that much, but she's finally finished with finals and has a decent amount of progress on her dissertation and they've sent off the new issue so even she thinks she's due for some relaxation.

Everyone's here too, including Raven, who is off on some whirlwind skiing trip with her mechanical engineering group tomorrow, and Octavia, who's definitely looking too cozy with their reviews editor, Lincoln, for Bellamy's comfort and glare, and Monty and Jasper, who had entered with their own concoction of "eggnog." (The quotation marks were because Bellamy had snatched the mug from her hand and warned her that it was not really eggnog.)

After a quick turn around the room, where she had actually stumbled upon Lincoln and Octavia making out in a corner like it was a high school party or something, she grabs her CHR sweater that Jaha had gifted to everyone earlier that day and a cup of the "eggnog" and sits down against a bookcase. She struggles a bit to get her sweater over her head and when she's finally succeeded, she looks up to see Bellamy taking a picture of her, which he does again when she flips him off. He sits down next to her, grabbing her cup and taking a drink out of it. The expression on his face makes her wish she had had her phone ready to take a picture for herself.

"See, I told you it wasn't eggnog."

"You still drank it anyways."

"I can't help that I'm thirsty." Clarke nudges his shoulder in response. "So I see now you're an official member of the team." He gestures to her sweater and then back to his matching one.

"I thought I already was a member."

"Nah, you were on probation before. The Jaha sweater means you're official."

"Does this mean I've finally made it here on my own merit and not because of money or connections?" Clarke grins smugly at him. No matter how much has changed, she still likes to bring up his words when she feels particularly in the mood.

"Hey," Bellamy grumbles. "I apologized." He did, a few months ago, when they had stopped being antagonistic and started being more friendly. It doesn't mean that it wasn't fun to tease him about it.

"You know I thought you were a huge dick for the longest time."

"I am a huge dick," Bellamy says. Clarke scoffs.

"I'm trying to tease you and you're just doing your whole 'self-deprecating but I really believe this shit' shit!"

"Oh, sorry." He doesn't seem sorry at all so she pinches his bicep. "Hey! Keep your fingers away from me."

"I'll do what I want with my fingers until you take it back!"

Bellamy averts his eyes. "Fine, I'm not a huge dick," he intones. She pinches him again. "What did I just say?!"

"Sound like you actually believe it, Bellamy."

"I can't do everything at your pace, Princess."

She lets out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, but I know you know that you're not a huge dick and one day, I'll finally make you say it with feeling." Bellamy waves his hand at her but she sees him smile briefly before tilting his head back against the bookcase and closing his eyes.

"Did you ever decide if you're going home for Christmas?"

She sighs, leaning her head back against the bookcase as well. Setting aside the cup, she played with the hem of the sweater before answering. "Yeah, I figured I should. Just a few days, you know? Can't be that bad." She tries to keep her voice light so that it doesn't betray any of her feelings of dread at the thought of driving home and having to try to act like she's happy to see Abby Griffin. She doesn't know if it didn't work or if it did and Bellamy's just good at seeing through her, like she is with him, but in any case, she can feel his eyes on her.

He hums a little, something unrecognizable, and then says, "If you want to get away from all that, you're always welcome to crash mine and O's Christmas dinners. We always have a million of them." Clarke can't tell if she's imagining the extra effort in his voice to sound as lighthearted as he's being right now.

"That's really sweet, Bellamy."

"I mean it. It's not really a big deal. Octavia would love to see you." Clarke turns to look at him, catching his profile. He looks relaxed. She traces his freckles with her eyes.

"Maybe," she says, for lack of anything better to say. "But I think it'll be okay. Thanks though, you know I'd love to see how over the top you get about Christmas."

"I don't go over the top, Clarke. I get appropriately enthused, unlike you."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself."

 

The next morning, she drops Raven off at the airport with a huge backpack and her best stern voice, telling her to be safe and to try to find service or wifi so that she can check in. Raven rolls her eyes, but hugs her tightly, whispering a 'Good luck,' before she heads inside to check in.

Clarke stares at her disappearing back for ten minutes before she finally gets back in her car to drive to her childhood home.

__

__\-----_ _

__

Break starts out fine and civil. It's not much more positive than that, but both Griffin women are adept at putting on fake smiles and navigating tense atmospheres, especially with each other, so they get to avoid any big fights for the most part. Abby still hovers and makes her follow her schedule, and Clarke still reaches her breaking point much faster, but the time spent apart has helped mellow out a previously volatile relationship into a more manageable hostility.

When she's at dinners with Abby's work colleagues, the big-shot doctors and politicians and lawyers that fill her appointment book, Clarke works past the suffocation by sneaking out for ten minute breaks and making Bellamy text her bad jokes. Then she shares the jokes with Raven, although she won't see them until after her trip, because she knows that she'll appreciate them since Raven is also a sucker for terrible jokes.

It's almost a record that Clarke and Abby have passed a week without a confrontation over all the issues that haunt them, which means, predictably, it goes to shit during Christmas.

__

Christmas morning goes without event, actually. She wakes up early (force of habit), blearily walks to the kitchen to pour some coffee, reads the note her mom left her on the counter ( _Be back later this afternoon, but we'll be heading to Thelonious's around 5. XO, Mom_ ), rolls her eyes, and after she pours the awful coffee down the drain, crawls back into the bed.

She wakes up later to a handful of texts and a voicemail from Raven, which she listens to immediately. Who decides to go on a skiing trip that forbids phones?

_("HI CLARKE! I forced one of the guys in charge here to sneak me my phone so I could call you but you're probably asleep like a LOSER, [laughter] just kidding! I should probably be nice since it's Christmas, hope hell isn't TOO bad, I love you so much and I'm definitely pretending you're here with me complaining about the cold! When we get back, we so have to have a night in! MISS YOU! Hey, hey, I'm almost done, stop being such a baby, okay well Steve's throwing a fit because he thinks I'll get him in trouble, so I gotta go, but MERRY CHRISTMAS, have a great time FOR ME! Love you, Griff!")_

 

Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: SKI HERE SO YOU CAN SAVE ME FROM DINNER TONIGHT

__

She's watching her favorite Christmas movie, _Eloise at Christmastime_ , when her mom comes home around 4, a frown already plastered on her face as she takes in her daughter's state of pajamas, the cookies next to her on the couch, and her occasional tapping on the phone.

"Clarke, I thought I said we were leaving around 5." Even with a gentle tone, it's full of disapproval.

"It's only 4, Mom."

"4:10."

"4:10 then. I have plenty of time." She wipes some crumbs off the sweats she's wearing as pajamas.

"Clarke," Abby stresses and Clarke just knows she's ready to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I don't need more than twenty minutes, Mom." She sounds petulant and hates herself for it.

"Honey, please, it's Christmas, can we not fight today?"

Clarke shuts up immediately, lips pursing. She nods. Abby looks relieved, then goes to grab the cookies off the couch to take back to the kitchen. She types out, _I hope YOUR Christmas is better than MINE_ , and sends it before turning the tv off and stomping off to her room. She doesn't want to get ready yet, doesn't want to go to the Jaha house, where there are still pictures of Wells on the walls, and more strangers than familiar faces, but there's not much to do and at least it'll satisfy her mom.

Her phone screen lights up when she's brushing down the skirt of the silver dress she has on. Simultaneously, she reaches into a drawer to find a necklace to wear and reads the text.

Bellamy: _aw dont tell me its already terrible_

She smiles slightly, then more uninhibited when successive texts come in, pictures of Octavia with a reindeer antler headband on, Bellamy and Octavia in matching Christmas sweaters, even one of Miller giving a thumbs up.

 _Not yet_ , she types, _BUT I am off to a dinner so there's still time._

His reply is quick: _offer still stands_

She remembers it well, had wondered whether it was a serious offer or not, but she hadn't decided by the time she had gotten distracted by something else. Shaking her head, she replies, _Please, you have your hands full with Miller already._

Clarke imagines him at his place, draws Octavia into the scene. She's making cookies, roping Miller into helping her. Maybe Bellamy's supposed to be helping too. Her phone pings with a text from Bellamy, _true but i think i can handle you too_

_I think I can handle this dinner._  
_But thank you. Really._

_i know i know i'm great. o says hi(!) and why are you texting when you should be setting the table get your ass in gear (this is to me i think)_

_Hahahahaha you're in trouble. Tell her hi with three exclamation points!!!_

_will do captain. hope you survive dinner_

_[PRAYER EMOJI]_

__

Christmas dinner actually goes without a noticeable hitch too.

It was a lot easier than she had assumed it would be, with Abby distracted by other people, and Clarke drawn into conversation with some friendly acquaintances. The thing is, it had gone off without a noticeable hitch and that was true, except it meant noticeable to the others. Clarke definitely noticed a hitch. Evelyn Spinner, a member of the city council had asked her about her plans after grad school, what was she going to do with her art history degree, become a professor, maybe?

Abby was sitting next to her, and even if she hadn't been, Clarke knew she would've seen her mother stiffen when Evelyn had asked the question, growing more tense when Clarke had shrugged good-humoredly, laughed it off with a, "Oh, I'm not sure yet, I guess I'm just focused on the day to day stuff first." Evelyn accepted it without further question, but Clarke knew the look on her face because it was a look Abby gave her a lot: disappointment with a cross of wary humor.

Naturally, once Christmas dinner was over, and she had pulled on her coat, said the necessary goodbyes, and driven back to the house with Abby, it was the perfect time for the disaster she had expected to occur much earlier that day.

She hadn't even hung up her coat yet when Abby had started saying her name, a weary warning laced in the syllable.

"Yes, Mom?" She asks, idly, pulling her arm out of her coat and hanging it up.

"Was there a reason you said that to Evelyn Spinner?" Clarke has to think for a minute because she already doesn't remember an Evelyn Spinner. Abby must notice because she sighs and clarifies. "She asked you what your plans were after school."

"Oh. I don't know, because it's the truth?"

"Clarke…"

"What? It is!"

"You're 24 now, shouldn't it be time for you to know?" Abby crosses her arms, levels her daughter with a look.

Clarke doesn't back down, crossing her arms back at her. "I'm in my second year of grad school, I have a lot more to do still. You know, you wouldn't be saying this to me if I was in my second year of med school or something. You'd say, Clarke, _sweetie_ , take your time, get more experience. I'm _so proud_ of you."

Abby narrows her eyes. "If you were in med school, you'd have a purpose to drive you. What are you doing now? Research? And more research? Then what?"

"Oh my god, Mom, I don't know! Maybe I'll just keep doing more research! Maybe I'll be a professor! I'll get a Ph.D., then you can finally tell your friends your slacker daughter is a doctor."

"You have so much potential, Clarke," Abby says, reaching a hand out to smooth down Clarke's hair. Clarke jerks back and watches her mom's arm drop to her side. Potential. Like she's been sitting by idly her entire academic career.

"I have a bachelor's degree, I'm gonna get a Master's, I don't know what kind of _potential_ ," she hisses out the word, "I'm not harnessing." The conversation is a familiar place for both of them; it's almost like routine at this point. They've avoided it all year with much effort.

"Clarke, you've always been so goal-oriented, but now you don't even have a plan for what you'll be doing a few years from now? Even if you wanted to be a professor, I would support you," Clarke scoffs. "But you don't even have a clue about where to go from here!"

"Please, Mom, try saying professor without disdain. When Dad was a professor, did you hate it too?" Clarke's surprised that she's already brought in the topic of Jake Griffin, which is possibly the most contentious point that exists between the two of them. "Actually, never mind, I already know the answer. It's why you hate the idea of me even thinking about it too." She throws her hands up in frustration. "I don't understand you and you don't understand me so I think it's probably best that we just stay out of each other's way for the rest of break."

"Clarke…"

"Nothing ever satisfies you! You're always setting impossible standards one minute and then expecting me to be the same kid you knew when I was 10 the next!"

"That's not true, Clarke, stop jumping to conclusions like you always do and talk to me like a reasonable adult."

"And look! Look at what you're saying! Look how you're saying it. You're always so condescending to me, to everyone, even to my friends who are nothing but polite to –"

Abby scoffs loudly. "Your friends are terrible influences on you and you deserve better. They're encouraging you to do this, aren't you? That's why you don't have any plans?"

"God, Mom, no!" Clarke wants to punch the wall, broken bones be damned. "Why does it never occur to you that these are _my_ choices?"

"Because I know you, Clarke, and you have a good head on your shoulders. If your father was alive, he wouldn't approve either."

Clarke's momentarily stunned silent. Finally, she says lowly, "You clearly don't know a thing about Dad."

"I know he wanted you to achieve more than this."

"I'm 24. I know you think that's past time for me to already have an established career path, but it doesn't work that way for everyone and certainly not me. I'm happy with my life finally, and I don't need you to micromanage any part of it, because whenever you do, it ends up fucking _me_ over!" Abby looks taken aback, a shock of hurt evident on her face, but Clarke's felt this coming for the past few years. She's let her mother walk over her feelings, her own thoughts under the guise of claimed good intentions for too long, and everything her mother had done to steer her in the direction she wanted had always failed, with the consequences backfiring on Clarke.

When she stares at Abby, she looks resigned, waving a hand at her. "All right, Clarke, let's just forget this." For now hangs in the air. Clarke doesn't care, angry and sad at the same time. It's times like these that she wishes she had continued on with pre-med, gone to medical school, just to avoid these confrontations with the only living close relative she had left.

After shutting the bedroom door behind her, she slumps down against the wood, tucking her head between her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs to steel herself. She doesn't know why she wants to cry, feels it rising within her, the tears prickling the backs of her eyes. She gasps in a shaky breath and shakes her head. No. She doesn't have a reason to cry, not when she was the one who yelled at her mom, hurt her.

It takes sustained effort to suppress her urge to cry, measured breaths to calm the anxiety within her. She has to crawl into bed, still in her dress and makeup, and press her face into her pillow to scream before she feels even slightly more in control. A bit lightheaded, she sits back up against the headboard and fishes around her covers for the phone she had thrown on the bed earlier.

She doesn't plan on doing anything in particular, maybe just checking on her emails or scrolling through Instagram, but she goes to her texts, staring at Bellamy's name on the screen. It takes a few minutes for her to decide to call him, another few minutes to actually call him, and burrows down into her comforter and pillows while the phone rings. She doesn't remember what time it is, maybe around ten or eleven, wonders if it's too late and he's still busy. It goes to the fifth ring and she's about to give up, embarrassed about bothering him when he's probably busy, when he answers.

"Clarke?" As soon as she hears his voice, she feels at ease, tucking herself further into her bed. "Clarke? Are you there?"

"Hi," she says softly.

"Hey."

"Are you busy?"

"Nope, I just won rock paper scissors to get out of clean up duty."

"Always lucky, huh?"

"I like to think of it as skill."

"Reigning rock paper scissors champion of the world?"

He laughs; it still sounds nice over the phone. "Something like that. I should get a plaque."

"I'll get someone on it. Finn, maybe."

"Yeah, put him to use." She hides a smile in her pillow, even though no one's around to catch her.

She can hear distant noises from Bellamy's end. She wonders if he can hear her rustling of her bed.

"So how was Christmas?" Bellamy asks, conversational but direct.

Clarke lets out a long sigh and closes her eyes tightly. "It was okay. Well, mostly."

"Something happen? Wanna talk about it?"

"I –" Clarke begins, stopped by a panic in her chest that overwhelms her. She has to take several breaths before she continues. "I don't know if I can, it was just bad, we got into a huge fight and I think I'm going to cry any second and it'll be awful for you to have to endure that and –"

"Clarke," he soothes and she wonders how he can do that even over the phone. "Don't worry about it. We don't have to talk about it. Besides, I'm not scared away by crying, I did raise Octavia by myself. I'm very used to tears." He chuckles. "Don't tell her I said that."

She makes a sound, somewhere between a sniffle and a giggle. "No promises."

"Ouch. Where is your Christmas spirit?"

"I never had much to begin with," she says, staring at the ceiling. She switches the phone from one ear to the other.

"You're a regular Ebenezer Scrooge. Princess Scrooge."

"Terrible. Worst one yet."

"I wasn't trying!"

"I doubt you actually trying would be any better."

"You know, I've decided letting you be mean to me is my present to you."

"I didn't get you anything though."

"Your gift of insults is enough for me."

"Funny."

"Feeling any better?"

She has to think about it. "A little. Maybe. I really hurt my mom, I think."

"Did she hurt you?"

She sucks in a breath. "Yeah."

He doesn't say anything; Clarke's glad. She doesn't want to hear him apologize for something that he had no part in.

"I think I need to get out of this house."

"Are you taking me up on the offer?" Bellamy asks and Clarke's ready to say no, ready to say that she'll be fine back in her apartment at school, but Raven's not going to be back for another week and she doesn't want to sit in there alone. She doesn't have any reasons why she shouldn't – Miller's already been hanging out there, she was invited, Bellamy's her friend – but she still feels like she'd be imposing.

Nervously, her fingers drumming on top of the sheets, she says, "Yeah. I guess. If that's okay? I don't want to impose or anything, it'd just be a few days or even just a day or two and Raven's back home soon so I won't even bother you guys –"

"Clarke," Bellamy says with a laugh. "You ramble when you're nervous." Clarke clamps her mouth shut. "You don't have any reason to be nervous. I invited you, everyone here would love to see you, you wouldn't be imposing at all. Plus I have a new joke I want to try out on you in person." His teasing washes away the nerves.

"Oh," she breathes out. "Okay. It might not be tomorrow though. Maybe the day after. I'll let you know?"

"Let me know. Here, hold on –" Clarke furrows her eyebrows as he stops talking. When there's sound again, it's not Bellamy's deep voice, but Octavia's excited one.

"Clarke, I'm so happy you're coming! I'm going to get the guest room ready and everything and seriously, you're so NOT imposing!" Clarke smiles, hears the Bellamy resemblance. "I've had to live with just BOYS all week so you're really just saving me."

She snorts out a laugh. "Well, I can't abandon you now. Just let me tie up a few things and I'll be there sometime soon. Tomorrow afternoon?" She's thinking about how to tell her mom, how to avoid another fight, wondering if her mom will be relieved instead.

"GREAT!" Octavia all but yells in her ear, making her wince in return. Bellamy must have forced the phone back in his hand because he is apologizing for the loudness.

"It's fine," she says, then pauses. "Hey, Bellamy?"

"Hey, Clarke?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Princess."

__

Clarke wakes up the next morning and drags her feet through her morning routine. She's had a few fleeting thoughts about avoiding her mom entirely and just leaving a note for her to find, but she's 24 and better than that (she hopes). Eventually, she has to leave her room, surprised to see Abby in the kitchen. She had assumed she'd be out, like most days.

She pads into the kitchen, standing in the doorway, and says a quiet, "Hi, Mom."

Abby turns around, her tired face brightening a little at the sight of her. "Hi, Clarke. Coffee?" When Clarke nods, she hands her a mug. It's terrible, because Abby's never figured out how to make coffee properly, but she drinks it anyways as a way to distract herself.

"Any plans for today?"

Well, she's given her an opening. She opens and closes her mouth as nothing comes out. Sighing, she leans back against the counter and tries again. "I was thinking I'd head down to see a few friends, stay for a bit, then go back to school when Raven gets back." She figures the direct approach will be the most successful. It's not like she's even asking for permission; she's an adult and doesn't need it, but being in this house, being around her mother makes her feel like a child all over again.

"Oh," Abby says. She frowns.

"I know we haven't gotten along, and there's a lot of stuff we need to talk about and work through, but can we please just… forget about it for now? I don't want to upset you more and I think that's all will happen if we keep being around each other like this." Clarke clutches her mug tightly.

Abby looks at her, as if she's appraising her or evaluating her words.

"Well, I suppose that would make you happier than going to dinners with strangers." There's a slight smile on her face; Clarke feels a rush of warmth.

She rushes forward, moves to catch her in a hug, but diverts her motion to a kiss on her cheek when she sees Abby's mug of coffee still held in front of her.

"I love you, Clarke," Abby says softly, though – and she knows this isn't intentional – it only serves to make her feel more guilty.

"I do too, Mom. I'll call you when I get to my friend's house?" She tries to give her a genuine smile, thinks she's fairly successful.

"Drive carefully, okay? It snowed a bit last night." Clarke nods, takes another drink of the awful coffee, and leaves her mom with another smile.

 

\-----

 

Bellamy only lives about 30 minutes away, according to the GPS she's programmed his address in, but she spends the entire drive debating whether or not she should show up and a few times, she even thinks about turning the car towards her apartment instead. Her hands on her steering wheel are tense the whole time and only loosens the grip when she pulls into the driveway, where there are already three cars parked.

She takes a few deep breaths, then another few minutes to try to figure out why she's freaking out so much, and then another moment to dig through her bag to find her phone so she can let Bellamy know she's here when there's a few knocks on her window.

She can't help but scream, except it's only Octavia, with a fluffy coat and a bright smile, waving at her. Clarke rolls down the window.

"Hi, you scared me."

"I noticed," Octavia says, smirking. "Well, hurry up, it's cold and I only have my slippers on."

Clarke hurries out of her car and follows Octavia, who's telling her again about how excited she is that she's here. When she walks into the house, she sees Bellamy, Miller, Monty, Jasper, and even Lincoln sitting around the dinner table, where they seem to be playing some card game. When she gets closer, she sees that it's poker. Jasper spots her first, yells, "CLARKE! WELCOME!" which makes everyone turn their attention to her. She waves.

"I fold," Bellamy says, tossing his cards to the side of the table as he gets up from his seat and walks over to her.

"Hey," he says, smiling widely at her. She doesn't think about it, just steps forward and gives him a hug. He seems taken aback by it, takes a few seconds to hug her back, but he's a great hugger, warm and welcoming. She burrows her face closer to his neck, smells something like vanilla on him. She's missed him a lot, she thinks, and smiles.

"Hey," she says once she's released him or been released (she doesn't know which one is more accurate). "Thanks for –" He groans, shoots her a stern look.

"You've got to stop thanking me for this. It's gotta be like the tenth time already. You don't need to keep reminding me."

"Plus you'll just inflate his ego," Octavia adds from Bellamy's vacated seat. She's sweeping the boys out of their chips already.

"Well, we can't have that," Clarke agrees, squeezing his elbow to show him she's teasing, but he just slings an arm around her shoulders, pulls her to his side. The suddenness of the action and how close he's keeping her by him makes her hold her breath for a few seconds, before she frowns and breathes normally again.

"You any good at poker?"

"You'll have to see, won't you?"

"I bet you're all talk," he challenges.

 

Clarke and Octavia win five games in a row before the boys give up.

 

\-----

 

Being around all of Bellamy and Octavia's friends – well, she guesses they're her friends too now – is easy and it's fun and she doesn't feel like she needs to cry at any point. They don't do much, preferring to enjoy each other's company and play card games and drink and use winter break as an actual break. She finds out this is another Blake tradition, a friends Christmas celebration that spans the whole break, which explains why there are people coming in and out at various times of the day. She also finds out that Octavia's been dating Lincoln for the past year, ever since a visit to the Review brought her in contact with the guy. (Bellamy interjects during Octavia's story to point out how unfortunate it was for him, but everyone can tell he's not serious.)

Bellamy doesn't leave her side for most of the day, always standing near her or putting his arm around her shoulders, and Clarke finds that she doesn't mind at all. It keeps her grounded, holds off on her lingering guilt about her fight with the mom yesterday, makes her feel comfortable around friends who have known each other far longer than she's known them.

Sometimes, she feels a slight tingling when he leans in closer or touches her waist to walk past her to grab another beer, but she shakes her head and tries not to think about it further.

 

It's 2 AM and she's just finished a call with her mom, the latter finally home from work, and it was perfunctorily civil. They always get along when they avoid important issues. The chill of the air helps keep her awake as she sits outside in one of the porch chairs, her coat on and a blanket wrapped around her. Since she gets lost staring out at the snow on the ground, she doesn't notice Bellamy pull up another chair to sit by her. She does notice his hand waving in front of her, though.

"Why are you awake?" Clarke asks.

"I can't sleep when I know you're out here in the cold," Bellamy answers back simply.

She gestures to her coat and blanket. He shrugs. "Just couldn't sleep," he amends.

"Ah, well, you've joined the right party. Anything on your mind?"

"Nothing, really," he says, looking out at the snow.

"My mom called me," Clarke offers. He turns to look at her, an eyebrow quirk asking if it went okay. "Yeah. No fights. Just called to see how I was, I said I was having fun, she said that was good, then we made small talk, and that was that."

"I take it that was one of your better conversations?"

"How could you guess," she deadpans. "Nah, you don't want to hear about the bad ones."

"I do. I mean, if you want to tell me." He sounds earnest, always sounds so fucking earnest that she believes him immediately. Bellamy never does anything out of sheer politeness, doesn't play at falsities, at least not with her.

She stays quiet for a bit, which Bellamy seems to understand as her trying to figure out how to start. "We used to fight a lot even before now. Back when I was a teenager and my dad was still alive and she didn't like that I was closer with him than I was with her." She knows that she's never told Bellamy some of this stuff before, like her dad being dead, but he doesn't interrupt. "I think I always caught on back then that she was jealous about it, that she knew she was being irrational, but it didn't stop her. So I tried not to play favorites, but I was just always closer to him without any effort at doing so. He never talked down to me or try to control my life, just wanted me to be happy and have fun as long as I was being responsible. So there was always that tension." She sees him nod out of the corner of her eye.

"It was manageable back then. Because my dad was a good buffer, because I was still planning on med school, my mom was still happy for the most part. And then my dad died when I was a sophomore at Stanford, and it fucked me up, and my mom didn't even tell me about it as soon as he had arrived at the hospital. She told me hours after the surgery had failed, said that she was just so scared and it had slipped her mind – they got hit by a drunk driver when they were heading back from a dinner," she detours when she sees a curious look on his face that he doesn't do a fast enough job of wiping.

"It had _slipped her mind_ ," she continues, her right hand curled into a fist. "And maybe I shouldn't blame her, maybe my logical side knows that I would probably be panicking too much to have remembered too, but all I could think about, and all I _still_ can think about when I think about my dad is how I never even knew they had gotten into an accident and they couldn't save him and I was stuck at fucking _Stanford_ , thousands of miles away doing who the fuck knows, calculus homework or something, while my dad was _dying_." Clarke has to stop a few times, bites her lip to stop herself from crying. Even though it's been so long, it always feels like it's brand new when she thinks about it.

Bellamy reaches out to unfurl her first, tangles his fingers with hers. She squeezes tight.

"That's the biggest thing. There's other stuff about how she never liked that he gave up a cushy job at some engineering firm because he hated working for a corporate business so that he could become a professor, which I'm pretty sure is why she hates what I do now. I have so much _potential_ ," she bites out. "That I'm just wasting." He squeezes her hand and she feels his thumb caress her skin.

She looks over at him and he looks contemplative. "Thoughts?"

"I just…" he begins haltingly. "God, I hated you so much when we first met because I thought you just skated by on family connections."

She bursts out laughing. "Well, I kinda do, I guess, but I hate it."

"I'm so sorry."

"I don't hold it against you and we're friends now." He looks relieved.

"So everytime you talk to your mom, you end up in these landmines?"

"Pretty much."

"That fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it. At least you were able to work things out with Octavia."

He uses his free hand to run through his hair. "It took a lot of effort," he admits. "But she's the most important person in my life and for most of our lives, we've only had each other so I knew I was the one who had to change. Sometimes I think I'm just lucky that she forgave me."

"Anyone can tell that she loves you."

"Yeah, but I was an asshole to and about her. But I've changed, or at least I hope I have."

"When you told me you and Octavia had fought a lot before, I was really surprised because when I first saw you guys together, I was thinking about how close you guys were. It was really nice to see." He ducks his head but she spots a grin. "What I'm saying is, I may not have known you before, but from what I see, you're still a great brother."

He lets out a shaky breath. "God, are we really sitting out in the cold commiserating about our lives?"

"We make a great pair, don't we?" She jokes, catching his eye. He's staring at her with one of the expressions she still hasn't been able to catalog yet.

"Finest team in Virginia."

They spend another hour outside, their fingers still intertwined, before Clarke finally starts complaining about the cold.

 

\-----

 

It's not much of a surprise when she wakes up later in the morning with a tickle in her throat and a lot of sneezing. If Bellamy wasn't handing her tea, she would say he looked a bit smug about her cold. Actually, scratch that, he definitely did, but at least he was trying to make her feel better.

Apparently Jasper is a touch paranoid about getting sick so he makes a big fuss about her not being allowed to join in today's poker games (but Clarke knows that it's because he doesn't want to lose anymore). She offers to go to the store and grab some more snacks and beer, and Octavia jumps at the chance to tag along. She's been complaining about cabin fever lately, so Clarke accepts her company happily and tells the boys that they'll be back in a bit.

They take Octavia's car and likes that the other girl sings along to the radio and tells her about herself (she's just finished undergrad and is taking some time off before she decides what to do next; she is allergic to cats and hates scary movies; one time Bellamy wouldn't let her date the captain of the football team and she snuck out of the house to get past his rules).

"So do you and Bell have a thing?" Octavia asks and Clarke jerks the shopping cart to a sudden stop, which causes Octavia to trip forward.

"Sorry!" Clarke rushes. "What?" She wonders if she's blushing.

"Just wondering," Octavia says, tossing a few bags of chips into the cart. "You're like always sitting by each other." Clarke's about to say, _So are you and Lincoln_ , but that's probably not going to help her.

"Oh," Clarke says. "No, we're just. Friends."

She expects Octavia to press further for information, try to get her to admit something she doesn't even know about herself, because she thinks Octavia's the kind of girl who has that kind of skill, but she doesn't. She just shrugs and smiles at her. "Okay, cool. Hey, do you like jalapenos?"

 

Clarke fixates on her and Octavia's conversation – for the thirty-second part of it that had thrown her off – more than she wants to admit. She doubts it was Octavia's intention because she sounded so nonchalant, so much more curious than manipulative, but Clarke is very good at thinking about everything. When they return, Octavia shouts something like, "WE'RE BACK, BITCHES!" which causes everyone to cheer in response. Bellamy, his attention still on the cards in front of him, raises an arm in greeting, and Clarke walks towards him without a second thought, until she suddenly remembers Octavia's question ( _So do you and Bell have a thing?_ ) and she makes a hasty, completely obvious detour to the kitchen.

She hadn't realized how… natural it was to be around Bellamy, thinks it's been that way for a while now, thinks she can call him her best friend as well. She's always known that he has a knack for making her feel better when she's upset, at ease when she's uncomfortable, confident when she's uncertain, but it was so much on a subconscious level that she's never thought about it past that. (Well, she's thought about some things, particularly when they first started getting close, but Bellamy was so much like second nature to her soon after that.)

She's being ridiculous and overthinking a question that doesn't need to be analyzed as much as she is analyzing it, which is making her act weird, which will probably be noticed by everyone, and they'll ask what's wrong and what's she supposed to say? _Oh, nothing much, just wondering if everyone thinks Bellamy and I are a THING._ Yeah, that'll go over well. (What does a _thing_ even mean anyways?)

Resolved, she taps the counter a few times, shakes off her dramatic inner monologue and heads back out to the poker game in progress. She walks up behind Bellamy, peers at his cards.

"Are you winning or are you in sore need of my fantastic help?" He leans his head back so he's looking at her upside down and glares without force.

"I'm definitely winning, Clarke."

"Say that to my cards," Miller says, looking triumphant.

"You better win or I'll sneeze on you."

"That's the grossest motivational tool I've ever heard of. I _told_ you to stop sitting outside," Bellamy says, a bit of reproach in his eyes and his trademark disappointment at the corners of his mouth.

Clarke laughs and squeezes Bellamy's shoulder without realizing she's done it. For luck, she reasons after. He leans back into her hand and well, she can't remove it now, can she? She leaves her hand resting on his shoulder, sometimes tapping her fingers absentmindedly against him. He doesn't seem to mind at all.

 

\-----

 

"Clarke, when are you leaving us again?" Octavia asks as she scrolls through her phone.

Clarke has to check her own phone to figure out what day it is. December 29. "Oh, tomorrow, I guess. Shit, I need to double check Raven's flight info." Once she finds the email Raven had forwarded her, she calms down; Raven doesn't come in until around five tomorrow night.

"That's so soon! We're gonna miss you so much!" Octavia is pouting, she's pretty sure.

She laughs, pulling her into a hug. "It's not like I'm disappearing forever. You'll still see me when break's over!"

"Yeah, but I've gotten so used to you around," Octavia says as she snuggles closer.

"Why don't you just invite Raven here?" Miller asks.

"I don't know if this surprises you but Raven would not hesitate to kill me if I made her come here instead of home after a long trip with her weird science guys." No one objects to this statement.

"But we should do lunch tomorrow and I'll leave a bit after that?" Everyone looks around and shrugs to signal they have no problem with it.

"Your treat, Princess?" Bellamy looks expectant and teasing.

"For everyone _but_ you," she shoots back.

 

\-----

 

Packing takes a lot longer than she anticipated considering how little she actually brought with her. But her things are all around the house, her socks still in the laundry room, her laptop gone missing somewhere, her makeup bag still in the bathroom. She has to track down everything, has to wrestle a sweater away from Monty's hands because he insists it's his when it's clearly hers, and by the time that's done, she's exhausted but at least she didn't leave it until an hour before she had to go. This way, she can sleep in tomorrow, wake up, go to lunch, and then pick Raven up.

"Hey, do you want me to take your stuff out to your car?" Bellamy asks, popping his head into the guest room and distracting her from Raven's flight email again.

"Oh. Yeah, thanks! Wait, wait –" She jumps up off the couch to unzip the bag, taking her laptop out. "Okay, all set. My keys are –"

"Counter, got it."

"Wow, you act like this is your house and everything." She laughs at her own joke as he just rolls his eyes and heads outside. When she still hasn't heard the door open and close again, she heads outside to the living room where everyone is piled up on and around the couches. Lincoln's checking his email, Octavia's doing her nails and dictating something to Lincoln, Monty's finishing some reading, Miller's working on a Sudoku puzzle, and Jasper's asleep.

"Hey, is Bellamy still outside?" She asks. They look up like they hadn't even noticed he was gone. Clarke makes a mental note to tell him they were all terrible friends.

"Probably," Octavia replies, examining her handiwork. "Maybe he fell down and got stuck in the snow." Everyone laughs.

"Well, I'll go see if he needs an ambulance or something," Clarke says as she goes to grab her coat.

"Don't fall too!" She hears Monty yell as the door closes behind her. Bellamy hasn't fallen in the snow, not like there's much of it to fall into, but he is standing at the trunk of her car. As she approaches him, he doesn't notice her presence and she sees that he's just staring into space.

"SURPRISE!" She shouts, grabbing him from the side and peering up at him. He looks down at her, confused, but doesn't look at all thrown off. Clarke pouts.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey…" she says slowly, narrowing her eyes. "What are you doing out here still? My bag's already in the car, isn't it?" He nods.

"Nothing, I was just enjoying the fresh air." She looks at him skeptically. His nose is already a light red from the cold and he only has a light jacket on.

"Bellamy, it's 14 degrees and you're already turning red." Boys had the worst way of dealing with cold weather.

"It's _refreshing_ ," he defends.

"It's _freezing_ ," she asserts, pulling on his hand to drag him inside. He doesn't budge so she stops her movement and gives him a curious look.

"I'll be fine for a few minutes, head on inside."

"No," she says stubbornly. "I'm not letting you freeze too."

"Clarke," he says sternly.

" _Bellamy_ ," she mocks, tugging on his hand again. When it doesn't look like it's working, she changes the topic.

"I'm really glad you invited me." She swings his arm like a pendulum.

There's fondness written all over his face, in his eyes, the set of his mouth, even the dimple that appears on his cheek somehow. "I'm glad you _came_."

She smiles warmly at him. "Me too. It's the best break I've had in years."

"Cos of me, right?"

"Yes, Bellamy, you're the reason for everything good in my life," she says mockingly, although it hits a little close to home. A lot of things _have_ been better ever since they became friends.

"Aw, stop it, I'm blushing." His face _is_ red, but it's probably because of the cold.

"You'd better invite me next year." She's going for a half-threatening, half-joking tone, but his face suddenly turns more serious, losing the lightness from his joking around just seconds before. Oh god, was she assuming too much? "I mean, you don't have to, obviously, I was just joking –"

His expression shifts again, this time more of an alarmed reassurance. "No, no, of course I will. It'd feel wrong not to." She nods and they lapse into an uncomfortable silence, at least for her, because she's berating herself for saying that. His reassurance doesn't settle her, the serious lines of his face at odds with his words.

Maybe he notices her hesitation: "Clarke." She turns to look at him and he looks… flustered. Flustered and awkward and uncomfortable. She drops his hand immediately, backs away, opens her mouth to apologize when he cuts in. "I need to ask you something." He sounds agonized. She can't help but shift into the side of her that automatically looks to make others feel better. Bellamy's at the top of the list of people she would drop everything for to do so.

"Is something wrong?"

"No! No, it's just…" He pauses, sighs, drops his head onto the car.

"Bellamy, you're freaking me out," she says in an even tone, trying not to betray how true her statement is.

There's a lengthy silence where Clarke is running through all sorts of scenarios and questions he could be asking her. Naturally, she just assumes the worst. Finally, he says, "Can I kiss you?" He looks half embarrassed, half-pleading.

"What?" She asks, searching his face for any sign of a joke. She thinks about looking around for cameras too. " _What?_ "

"Never mind," he says quickly, running a hand through his hair. He turns to step past her so he can head inside. She grabs his arm to stop him.

"What? You made it sound like… oh my god, I thought you were going to ask me to stop being friends with you or something! But you just wanted to ask me if you could _kiss me_?" He at least has the decency to wince and look apologetic about how he approached it.

"Sorry, I... sorry. I'm just gonna – go back in –"

She hits him once, twice, another time for good measure. "I was FREAKING OUT!" She's disproportionately mad about this, she _knows_ that, but until her heart can stop beating out of her chest, she can't even process his original question.

He holds up his hands to try to stop her from hitting him some more and waits for her to stop fuming. When it looks like he's in the clear, he approaches her warily. "So… I should've done that a bit differently." Clarke sends him her meanest glare, one that actually makes him duck his head to avoid it.

" _Really._ "

"Is that a… yes then? No?" Clarke's staring at him when she realizes that she never answered him, hasn't even thought about what to say.

"I…" she starts. "I don't know?"

He accepts it, nodding to himself, even with a smile on his face. They stand awkwardly for a few seconds but he jerks his thumb behind him. "I'll just head inside."

Without thinking, Clarke grabs his arm again (she's been doing that a lot lately) to head him off. "But… maybe?" She doesn't know what she's saying, has no idea why she said that, except that now she's thinking about him kissing her and she kinda likes the thought and her brain's not screaming at her to reject the idea of it, or a kiss, or even him. (She's definitely coming back to _that_ later.)

"That's not a real answer. That's like 'sure'."

Clarke can't resist it, "Sure."

" _Clarke._ "

She frowns at him and Bellamy takes that as a sign to leave so she grabs his arm again, just reaches out, pulling him back and both tugs him down toward her and surges up towards him so she can kiss him. She's not thinking straight, she thinks, and he's not even kissing back – she breaks the kiss at that revelation, her blush warming up her cheeks.

"I – wasn't ready," Bellamy says, dazed. He's blinking slowly, which makes Clarke feel a bit smug.

"You asked to kiss me!"

"You can't just spring that on someone, especially not me, that's why I asked in the first place –"

"Oh my god, you're such a baby."

Bellamy glowers at her before he grabs her face in his stupidly large hands and kisses her, just a press of their lips together at first until she relaxes into it, shaking off the surprise of it. She suppresses a giggle when she realizes how cold his face is and instead pulls him closer to her with a hand at the nape of his neck, her fingers curling around the ends of his hair there. As she's doing so, he slowly backs her up against her car. She sighs a little when they break apart, avoiding his gaze because it's so – intense, that's the only word for it. He drops his head onto her shoulder, mumbling something into her coat.

"What?" She asks, dragging his head back from his perch to look at her.

"I'm not done yet," he says, repeats. He goes to kiss her again, but she turns her head so he's just meeting air. He stiffens, then scrambles away so that there's a good two feet between them.

"Sorry," he says immediately. She can't stop looking at his mouth.

"No, don't, I… I liked it," she admits, blushing. She resists the urge to pull him back for another kiss, tears her gaze away from his lips. "I don't really know how to --"

"I don't want to pressure you or anything." Eyes wide, Bellamy looks like he's fighting a war with himself. Clarke shakes her head in reassurance; she doesn't get that impression at all.

"I just never thought… about us kissing until now? So I have no idea where my head is. About this. Us." She scratches at her elbow through her layers.

He's nodding slowly, as if he's taking in her words. "I didn't fuck this up, did I? I can't –" The anguish is back home on his face.

" _No_ ," she stresses. "We're friends! We'll be fine." She sees him swallow, berates herself for using such defining words when she's in limbo herself.

"Okay," he says. He alternates between staring at her and staring behind her. Eventually, he jerks his head towards the door to his house. "You were right, I'm freezing."

A small, uncertain smile passes across her face. He leads the way inside and she follows.

 

"Hey, did you guys _DIE_ or something?"

 

\-----

 

Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: I kissed Bellamy  
Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: Well he asked me first  
Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: Then I kissed him  
Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: Then he kissed me again  
Clarke to RAVEN XOXO: COME BACK

 

\-----

 

Clarke deliberately does not leave the guest room the next day until it's absolutely necessary to start leaving for lunch. She knows that everyone's peered into the room, but she's buried herself in the comforter in her best attempt to look like she's knocked out in the deepest sleep ever. It's probably cowardly, but she doesn't know how to face Bellamy yet because she doesn't have an answer for him about anything she's asking herself or things he must be holding back on asking her. She didn't think she'd be so glad to leave Bellamy's house already, but she's hoping lunch goes by fast and she can find Raven.

It helped a little that she couldn't actually sleep well last night, tossing and turning as she remembered how Bellamy asked if he could kiss her, how she had actually kissed him first(!), how he had kissed her again, and how he had wanted to kiss her some more. She groans as she remembers all of this again, kicking her feet on the bed.

"CLARKE!!! IT'S NOON AND I'M HUNGRY!!!" Clarke groans again, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. Jasper's loud whine reverberates through the house. Finally, she sucks it up and rolls out of bed, stumbling over to the mirror to assess the damage. Her hair's a mess, all teased knots and slept on, and her clothes are all rumpled. After some quick brushing and self-conscious fixing of her clothes, she pads out of the room cautiously.

"FINALLY," Jasper shouts, throwing his hands up in a quick "Hallelujah" chant. Clarke rolls her eyes.

"Sue me if I wanted to sleep in," she says, slipping into the bathroom. Half an hour later, she's showered, put on makeup, done her hair, and changed into non-pajamas. Everyone is waiting for her when she exits the bathroom, including Bellamy who's sitting on the end of the couch with an amused expression. Her heart beats a little faster at the sight of him while she forces the images away of his face after he kissed her. (His nearly-closed eyes, his murmuring, the fullness of his lips.)

"Really living up to your name today, aren't you Princess?"

"I can't even sleep in _one time_ ," she grumbles. "C'mon, let's go." Everyone jumps up, heading towards the door. Bellamy catches her elbow before she can scramble past him.

"Hey," he says, voice low. She tries not to focus on his grip, which is so stupid because she's never overthought it before, just relaxed into it.

"Hey," she says, although it comes out more like a question.

"Can we talk –"

"No!" She says quickly, and his face falls. "No, I mean, I want to, obviously, sometime. We obviously need to talk about it. I just don't really know what to say yet so I can't talk now. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," he says finally. "Uh, you'll let me know?" Bellamy drops his hand off her elbow, stepping back a bit to distance them. She misses his proximity already ( _that's_ concerning). "We won't avoid each other, right?"

"Of course not," she says vehemently. "Do I look like someone who would avoid someone because of a kiss?" Never mind the fact that her "sleeping in" wasn't actually accidental.

He looks at her like he's seen through the sleeping in facade, although she's not sure if it can really be classified as a big accomplishment. It doesn't take much to link the two events. "Of course not," he denies, and he says it with his trademark sincerity.

Defiantly, she has to add, "I'm _not_." He just gives her a faint smirk.

"Whatever. Let's get lunch before Jasper kills me." He chuckles and there's an awkward moment where he's about to put his arm around her but stops and jerks it back to his side. They both steadfastly ignore it.

 

Lunch ends with enough time for Clarke to drive to the airport without having to rush. Everyone gives her big hugs, even though she keeps telling them it's not like she's leaving forever, or even at _all_ really, but they don't listen to her. Bellamy bids her a goodbye leaning into the driver's window, telling her to drive safely, mind the ice, and to text when she's gotten there. It makes her feel like a twelve year-old, but Bellamy's nature is protective so she gives him that at least. He sends her off with a meaningful look and a tuck of her hair behind her ear.

 

She pulls over to the side of the road not even twenty minutes later.

 

\-----

 

Raven, well-rested, lugging a carry-on behind her, supremely annoyed expression on her face as the boys around her try to talk to her, is holding her phone in her hand. Clarke can pinpoint the exact moment she sees her most recent texts because she finds Clarke waiting for her, holds up her phone, points to the screen, and mouths, "What the fuck?"

Clarke shrugs helplessly.

 

\-----

 

"Spill, Griffin," is Raven's first words to her when she gets into her car.

"Hey, I'm trying to drive here," Clarke says, gesturing to her steering wheel. They're still in the parking lot and haven't moved at all, but it's the principle of the matter.

"You're good at multi-tasking," Raven points out. She crosses her arms and gives her a no-nonsense look. Clarke sighs.

"But I don't know what to say! That's my problem!" She checks for cars, then starts backing up when it's clear.

"Uh, how about how it happened? You kissed him first?!"

"Can you not shout at me while I'm trying to navigate airport traffic? You know it's one of my least favorite types of traffic."

Raven mutters something she can only make out as, "Least favorite" and "only you." She still looks expectantly at her.

Clarke sighs. "I don't know! He was taking my bag out to my car and he was outside for a long time, so I went to check on him and he was just standing there like thinking or something, I guess, and I went to scare him and he wasn't scared but, hold on," Clarke merges onto the highway.

"So I'm talking to him and he's not really talking back, just looking at me, and I keep trying to get him to go inside because it's fucking cold out and he won't and I'm like I'm really glad you invited me and he's like yeah I'm really glad you came I'm like dying to kiss you –"

"He _said_ that?"

"No, I just wanted to see how you'd react."

"Shut up. Keep going."

"He's like I'm glad you came too and I'm like hey you should invite me next year too and he like freezes and I'm like shit did I say something wrong and thinking I like, whatever, overstepped my boundaries or something, so I try to take it back and he's just like no, I definitely want to. The whole… atmosphere is just so serious like you can just SENSE it and he's staring at me, I think, and then he just asks if he can kiss me, but like I'm FREAKING OUT, I'm thinking that he's taken offense to what I said and shit and expecting the worst –"

Raven's laugh fills the car. "What the fuck, why is he so fucking dramatic?" Clarke bites back a smile because Bellamy _is_ incredibly dramatic all the time.

"Because that's _Bellamy_ ," she answers. "So he's asking me that and I don't even process it because I'm afraid he's going to like ask me to leave or something? Whatever, long story short, he tries to leave and I just – oh my god, I don't even know what I was thinking, I just pulled him back and kissed him and the guy doesn't even KISS ME BACK. He says something about how I can't just spring that on him –"

"You make Bellamy Blake so _nervous_ , Clarke!" Raven says, laughing hysterically.

"I do _not_ ," she says primly. "Maybe a little. THEN he kisses ME, just grabs me and starts kissing me and backs me up against the car and we're just outside, practically making out, even though I didn't even know I wanted to kiss him before then –"

"But you so do."

"I didn't say that!"

"Clarke, nowhere in that story have you talked about hating the kiss."

"I could be getting there."

"That means you didn't."

They reach a red light and Clarke lays her cheek against the steering wheel, looking at Raven. "I didn't hate it." Raven reaches over to pat her cheek.

"First step's admitting it, babe."

"What am I supposed to do?" Clarke asks, gloomily. Raven nudges her head to indicate the light's back to green.

"I think we should talk about this when we get home."

A bit miserably, Clarke agrees. "Fine, but we're getting pizza too."

 

\-----

 

Raven crashes into her bed as soon as she dumps her bags down on the floor, telling Clarke that she just wants to take a quick nap and then she'll be up and alert and ready to talk, but she ends up sleeping for hours. Clarke tucks her in and closes her door and then flings herself onto the couch. She decides to order that pizza anyway because she _deserves_ one, honestly. And also, she doesn't really want to talk about anything, so the distraction is welcome. Her hand hovers over her phone for ten minutes, debating whether she wants to see if Bellamy's left her any messages, but when she gives in, she's disappointed that he hasn't and annoyed that she's disappointed that he hasn't. She does not think about texts to send and does not glare at her phone at all. You'd think the guy would send her some courtesy text checking up on her or something. But whatever, it's not like it's that big of a deal.

Eventually, she falls asleep to some Lifetime movie playing and half a pizza left.

And still no messages.

It's not a big deal.

 

\-----

 

**JANUARY 2016**

 

Clarke successfully manages to keep Raven from talking to her about Bellamy for a few days by making Raven tell her about her trip, by running errands, by her sheer willpower in avoiding the topic. She can tell it not so much succeeds as it is Raven's giving into her obvious plans. But Raven's always understood her when it comes to her avoidance of emotions, knows that she needs some time before she confronts them.

But of course, this is what happens: the more she avoids discussing it or pretending there's nothing to talk about, the more she thinks about kissing Bellamy. It doesn't follow a pattern either. Sometimes she'll walk out to her car and remember it, sometimes she'll just zone out without provocation, sometimes she'll be texting Bellamy and he'll say something ("uh just because you won't open ur mind up to the REALITY OF ALIENS doesn't mean they don't exist clarke") and she'll start thinking about how she'd kiss him if there was an alien invasion or something. At this point, it doesn't take much.

She writes it off as a simple curiosity because she hasn't been with anyone in a long time and it's not like Bellamy was a bad kisser (quite the opposite, really) and he's definitely not horrible looking. However, after her first sex dream about Bellamy, she realizes this is probably something she needs to stop avoiding.

At breakfast the next morning, while Raven is chomping on toast and solving some chemistry problem set like it's a casual crossword puzzle, Clarke says, "So I dreamt I had sex with Bellamy."

Raven raises an eyebrow, toast still in her hand. She puts down her pencil, finishes her toast and asks, "Well, was it good?"

"That's all you have to say?" Clarke gapes.

"Babe, I've long passed the point of incredulity about your feelings for Bellamy."

"I don't have _feelings_ for him beyond those of friendship."

"Whatever, then, sexual tension with Bellamy," Raven says, rolling her eyes, which makes Clarke think that she's just letting her win.

"This is all his fault, you know," Clarke points out.

"I didn't know he had the power to manipulate dreams."

"No, I mean, you know, because he kissed me."

"Didn't you kiss him first?"

"Raven!" Clarke says, exasperated and run into a corner. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I don't choose sides based on DISTORTED FACTS. I'm a scientist, it's like against my nature." Clarke shoots her a look but nothing scares Raven. "All right, fine. I can't believe Bellamy's so terrible, using his wiles to seduce you like that."

" _Help me_ ," Clarke hisses, almost pleading.

"Clarke, what do you need my help with? I can't tell you what to do or how to feel. How _do_ you feel? Are you just curious because he's never kissed you before? Or is it because you think there's something there?"

She takes a long time to answer because she has to think about how to word it. "Definitely the first part. Because I've never thought about us as like, an _us_ before and it's not like I'm having dreams about us running away together and getting married or something. Like that's gotta be a hint, right?" She tries to read Raven's expression, but she's got on her best poker face. Damn it.

"Sure," Raven says.

"Sure's not an answer. That's like maybe, which is totally a no," Clarke says, echoing a familiar conversation.

"Hey, I'm trying to help." Clarke mutters a bit, but lets her talk. "Do you just think of him as just a friend?"

"I –" Clarke starts, ready to give an immediate _yes_ , but something stops her. She's pretty sure that most friends don't think about kissing their other friends like _all the time_ or have sex dreams about them. But she's also never thought about him past friendship, past the comfort his mere presence gives her, the way she is instantly happier, lighter when he's around.

"It's all... tangled up." Raven motions with her head to go on.

"It's like, I can't see myself in a relationship with him, but something's clearly changed about us because I keep wanting to kiss him, so what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, have you talked to Bellamy about this?"

"I've hardly said anything definitive to you!"

"I'm not the one you need to talk to, though."

Clarke groans loudly. "But I don't _want to_! It'll be _weird_! Why can't I just… have sex with him once and get over it?"

"That's your worst idea yet, Griffin."

"It was obviously a joke."

Raven snorts. "And you say I tell terrible jokes –" ("You do!") "Look, you know me, I'm not going to tell you to do something one way or the other. But for what it's worth, maybe it'll help to clear some confusion if you do talk to him." Clarke rests an elbow on the table and props her chin in her palm.

"I guess," she reluctantly admits, although she knows that she'll try to avoid this as long as possible too.

 

Obviously, her avoidance plan backfires on her just like her previous one did. It's worse now because at least while it was still break, she could actually _not_ be around Bellamy, save for texting (but texting's so much easier than having to work with him and watch him talk and try her hardest to not relax into his touch). Being around Bellamy throws her careful burial of her conflicted feelings and desire to pull him into the bathroom and see if his mouth is as wonderful was it was in her dreams into disarray. He's gotten a haircut recently so she can see the back of his neck now but when he runs his hand through his hair, naturally she's wondering how the shorter hair feels through her fingers. It's not like she hasn't ever played with his hair, either, because she _has_ , but that was Pre-Kiss and Pre-Kiss Bellamy was apparently not this hot to her before. Or maybe he was and she had just refused to think about it. A lot of her days are passed wondering whether Pre-Kiss and Post-Kiss Bellamy are any different to her. She's blushing a lot around him, which she _hates_ , and is working unnecessarily hard at not brushing past him to get something out of the printer, and this is on top of all the other stressors in her life, namely her impending draft deadline, her classes, her mother, and the work that has to be done for the next CHR issue. A girl can only handle so much.

The last straw is when she's working on her dissertation one night, two weeks from the beginning of February, and according to her outline, she has just three more major points to hit. She thinks that if she writes through the night, she can hit two of them, maybe all three, because she's on a _roll_ , holed up in her room and tuned in entirely to the Word document. There's just something missing from her paragraph about vernacular culture shaping the themes and styles of Gandhara-influenced art. After staring at it, rereading it and rereading it, she remembers a note she scrawled on a post-it earlier that day that would fit perfectly with the paragraph. It was a reference to something she had read, which had struck her as perfect for her topic. She has a stack of papers haphazardly strewn across her desk, some books on the floor, her bag open and its contents spilled out on her bed and she can't fucking find it. A sense of urgency washes over her because she already feels the inspiration to write slip away the longer she looks for it.

Finally, _finally_ , she spots it sticking on top of a folder of CHR documents that she had hurriedly stuffed into her bag that afternoon in 1) an attempt to get home to write and 2) truthfully, to avoid being alone with Bellamy and the tight sweater he had on today. Clarke grabs the note triumphantly, her eyes reading over her words so quick that she almost misses more words squished onto the note in a handwriting that's not hers. Bellamy's neat and tiny handwriting stands out as soon as she notices it and… it's incredibly helpful. It expands on her original reference, points out a different angle to explore, and her mind is working a mile a minute as she realizes the kind of in-depth analysis this will open up. It honestly overwhelms her (it's been a long day, a long exhausting day) and she dazedly slumps onto her bed, sitting on top of papers she doesn't care to identify yet. She can't believe Bellamy would do this, would help her without drawing attention to it, just small suggestions that don't spell out the answer for her but guides her in the right direction – but then again, she _can_. That's what Bellamy _does_. Even aside from his support for her research, he's just a solid, _sure_ presence she knows she can always count on. It's honestly enough for him to _help_ and she hasn't talked to him _properly_ in _weeks_ , but he knows that she's been stressed, that there's an edge of irritability in her mannerisms and interactions the closer her deadline creeps up on her, and fuck, she thinks she might cry out of relief and appreciation and – _Bellamy_.

She laughs, a light, disbelieving push of air, and she's staring so hard at his handwriting that she thinks her vision glazes over, or maybe it's just blurring. She shakes her head, smooths out the note in her hand that she's crumpled slightly from how hard she's been clutching it, and bites back a smile. She has to – she has to tell Bellamy how much this has helped, how much _he_ has helped – she has to see him and she has to kiss him. She thinks she's close to a revelation, knows that this emotional upheaval (over a sticky note!) has confirmed that she doesn't _just_ want to kiss him as a maybe-more-than-a-friend, that it's not _just_ pure curiosity, but that she sees something _more_ , but she's too wired up to sound out anything definitive. She just wants to see him.

Mind made up, Clarke grabs her coat and scarf, yells to Raven, who's working on a house of cards, that she'll be back soon and practically runs out to her car.

 

(Raven curses her name as the cards collapse. Clarke only feels mildly – okay, very – bad about it.)

 

Miraculously, she does not speed on her way to Bellamy's, but she's running on adrenaline and a maddening desire to just look at him, never mind all the other things she wants to do right now. She can't even bring herself to care about her unfinished paragraph back on her laptop because it's too late now and she has to retool part of her outline to incorporate this new direction anyways. Once she pulls into the driveway, she grabs her bag and double checks that the sticky note is still in her pocket, and runs to the door. She takes the time to control her breathing and collect her thoughts as she waits for him to answer. Oh god, what if he's not even home – she's pretty sure she saw his car but she doesn't remember much already –

"Clarke?"

She blinks to adjust her vision to Bellamy standing in front of her, holding his door open and looking highly confused. The confusion looks cute on him. Distantly, she registers that his hair is wet but he looks so comfortable and good in his CHR sweater. She loves that Jaha gift.

"Hi," Clarke says, a bit breathlessly. She rummages through her pocket to procure the note. "Thank you _so much_." The gratitude in her voice brings out a smile on her face, a smile that is mirrored on his, albeit more sheepish.

"It was nothing," he says humbly, although he may not see it as importantly as she does. "I just saw it on your desk and had a few questions. So it helped?" He rubs the back of his neck and then remembers she's standing outside while his door is open. Bellamy ushers her in, a hand on her back as he moves her past him.

"Bellamy, I almost _cried_ when I found this," Clarke says matter-of-factly as she undoes her scarf and unbuttons her coat.

A bit alarmed and surprised, he asks, "It helped that much?"

" _Yes_ ," she says, almost kicking herself for the reverential tone. "I know it doesn't seem like much but it's like the missing _piece_ that I've been skirting around and you guided me toward it without giving me the answer."

"To be fair," he says, taking her coat and scarf and hanging it on the back of a chair. "I didn't know I was pointing you toward something that good, but I'll definitely take the credit for it if you want." She beams at him.

"You should. I can't believe you were willing to help out even though I've been a terrible friend and kinda avoiding you –"

"C'mon, Clarke, I know you've been really busy and – well, I don't really blame you for any avoiding, I know it got a bit awkward with, well, I understand." Bellamy looks and sounds slightly self-conscious and she feels a rush of affection.

"It was still shitty of me to –"

"Clarke." His no-disagreement-allowed tone. His mouth is set in a slight frown as if he's ready to lecture her. "I don't care about it." She wants to protest some more but he really does look like he will sit her down for a lecture so she refrains. That puts a smile back on his face.

"So, you came all the way over just to thank me for some notes? You do have a phone, you know," he nudges her shoulder, looking puzzled and pleased at the same time.

His completely logical point throws her off and she tries to find a suitable explanation. "Look, it was just really important to me and I just kinda made a quick decision, all right? Adrenaline influenced."

A very familiar, teasing lilt enters his voice, "Clarke Griffin, meticulous planner and notorious overthinker, making a spontaneous decision?" She reaches out to shove him playfully.

"Don't make it sound like it's impossible!"

"Oh, I know it's not impossible. After all, you did _spontaneously decide_ to come see me just now." His classic smirk, washed of its arrogance so it just appears harmless and friendly, is still infuriatingly annoying as always, except this time she wants to kiss that infuriating smirk off his face, make him stand there in his blue sweater and wet hair agape.

So she does. She walks up to him so fast that he barely has time to get out a strangled, "What are you doing?" and stands on her tip toes so that she can drag his face down to capture his mouth with hers. Her hands are locked on the back of his neck as she kisses him at a better angle, one where she doesn't have to strain herself to meet his lips, and his arms are hanging in the air for a few seconds wherein Clarke thinks she's made a huge mistake before he remembers what to do with his hands and places them on her waist. He's pulling her closer as he traces her bottom lip with his tongue and she opens her mouth for him. When he maneuvers her back against the nearest wall, she pulls on his hair and bites his bottom lip, sucking on it for good measure. He groans into her mouth and she smiles, even giggles a little. When he breaks off the kiss, she's ready to pull him back to her but he's already peppering kisses across her jaw and kissing down her neck, alternating between sucking marks that she'll yell at him tomorrow for and pressing tender featherlight touches on her skin. Her eyes flutter shut and she tilts her head to the side slightly so that he can keep up his fantastic work while she runs her fingers absentmindedly through his hair, sighing over so often as he presses down on a sensitive point.

"If I had known that research notes would get you this hot and bothered, I would've started doing that months ago," he murmurs against her neck.

"Shut up," she says back, although it takes her a while to formulate words when Bellamy's nipping at her collarbone. "You're ruining my spontaneity." She feels him slipping his hands under the hem of her shirt, the pads of his fingers dancing on her warm skin. She shivers, arches slightly against him. He pins her back against the wall with his hips and she shivers when his fingers move up her sides, then towards her stomach slowly as if he's mapping her body with his touch.

"Get on with it," she says insistently, arching against him again.

He pulls back, a lazy smile on his face and his eyes half-lidded. "Pushy. I like it."

She glares at him, although it can't be too effective if she's also trying to chase his lips. He lets her win though, kissing her again but giving her the chance to set the pace. She doesn't get much leverage pressed up against the wall so she squirms against him to get him to hoist her up or change positions. He jerks back, flushed. "Clarke," he says slowly, his voice a bit hoarse. "You can't just – move like that while you're –" he flaps a hand in the air like he's trying to illustrate what he means.

"I wanted you to lift me up," she explains.

He sighs like it's a burden but then grins, tugging her into the kitchen. She's about to complain but he suddenly puts both hands on her waist and hoists her up on the counter. He fits himself in the open space between her knees, his hands going around her back, his fingers teasing under her shirt.

"Not what I meant," she whispers, ducking down for a short kiss. His thumbs are caressing her skin.

"You've gotta be a little impressed I got you up there." He tries to chase another kiss from her but she wrinkles her nose.

"It would've been more impressive had you kept me up with your own strength," she says, almost with a challenge in her voice. She must be losing her edge because he just laughs, pulling back a hand to squeeze her kneecap. She glares and locks her legs around him.

"Sorry," he says but he doesn't sound it. "This is better for talking." She frowns.

"Not very good for kissing," she argues because it's very true and very important. She's way taller than him at this angle and if he thinks she's going to bend down and suffer an achy back tomorrow just to kiss him, then he better make a really good case.

"Well, I don't want to ruin the mood –"

"Too late," she says, then sighs. "Fine, let's talk." To give her hands something to do (other than try to touch him), she starts combing her fingers through his hair. He's not fazed by it, even relaxes into the movements.

"Me first?"

"You're the one who ruined the mood."

He turns his head to kiss her arm and she has an urge to caress his cheek. "I'll make it up to you later."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Blake."

"I never do, Griffin."

"Not if you keep stalling."

"Clarke, I think you know how I feel," he says quietly, looking like he's trying his best to keep his eyes trained on her. She feels him grip her waist a little tighter.

He's not wrong. She's certainly had enough time to think about his side of it, the way he acts around her, the way he asked to kiss her, the things Bellamy does that indicate something more than friendship. She nods slowly, also keeping her eyes on him.

He fumbles for his next words. "Should I – can I… take this as a clue?" He looks hopeful despite his best attempts to reigning it in, of hiding it behind a half grin and bright eyes.

She leans down, brushes a kiss over the freckles on his nose, and rests her forehead against his. His eyes flutter shut and Clarke feels his jaw tense under her hands. "I like you a lot, Bellamy. I wouldn't be here like this, doing this, if I didn't."

"But?" He asks in a whisper.

She gives him a regretful grin he doesn't see. "I don't know what I want this – us, to be just yet. I like us. I don't want to ruin us."

"You wouldn't," he insists, his eyes open, searching in a plea.

"Do you want to be in a relationship with me?" Clarke asks bluntly.

"Yes," he answers firmly.

"I don't know if I want that yet. That's how I'd ruin us." A part of herself hates saying this, even though she knows that it's the logical thing to do, because Bellamy was right -- she _is_ a meticulous planner and a notorious overthinker and spontaneity isn't her thing.

He stands there silent for a few minutes and she can't read anything in his face. Then he tries to disentangle himself from her hold and out of instinct, she locks her legs again so that she can keep him from moving away.

"Bellamy, look at me," she tries. She has to guide his face back to eye-contact level with her hands. "I'm not saying no. I'm saying –"

He cuts in, "Give you time?" She nods, about to explain, when he picks her up from the counter and sets her back on her feet on the floor. What the hell is he doing? She looks up at him in confusion at the same moment he leans down to kiss her softly, a sweet, slow kiss that ends way too quickly. She thinks maybe she pouts when he moves back.

"I can do that. How do you feel about kissing though?"

"Very positive. I told you we should've just kissed instead of talked." And had he _listened_ to her, they could've spent this time doing just that.

The idiot just goes, "Is that giving you time?"

"Bellamy," she says, annoyed. "I said _time_ , not _celibacy_."

He starts laughing, dispelling the tension that had settled over them as a result. It makes her smile too, but she's embarrassed and tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder so she can hide her blush. She feels him press a kiss to her hair, which makes her smile even more. He can probably feel her smile against his neck, but he just lets her sneak closer to him.

"You've got anywhere to be or do you want to help me organize some notes for the panel?" He murmurs against her hair as he plays with the ends of a few strands.

She pulls back slightly and gives him a pitying look. "That sounds like a very hot date."

"I live to impress, Princess," he says, pecking her lips after.

"Fine, but I'm just going to supervise while you put your muscles to work." As she disentangles from him, walking towards the living room, he catches up and pinches her side. She shrieks in surprise but he evades her fist.

A loud grin in place, he just laments, "I knew you were only in it for my body."

 

Organization falls to the wayside when Clarke realizes Bellamy's accidental brushing of his fingers by her body as he "just wanted to grab that file by you, Princess, don't be so suspicious" is intentional. They don't make any progress in his notes but by the time she heads back home, Clarke has three marks on her collarbone that's going to require either a lot of makeup or a scarf to cover up.

 

\-----

 

The rest of January moves by way too quickly for the sake of Clarke's work on her draft. She spends most of her time after classes and the CHR surrounded by her notes and books, typing away at her laptop and editing sections she hates viciously. Bellamy's insight into her topic has made it a lot easier to finish though, which keeps her stress level to a more manageable point and also constantly reminds her of the sort-of thing she and Bellamy have entered into. He's over a lot more too, often bringing along his own work, taking calls with reviewers and answering emails from his publisher. Raven never has a shortage of nerd jokes to tell them, but she has a corner of their apartment devoted to scrap things she's collected and used to rebuild into new items so really, who's the nerd here.

It would almost be like usual, the way they're hanging out all the time, if it wasn't for how much Clarke has to stop typing to watch Bellamy argue on the phone because it's incredibly distracting to see him sound so annoyed (at someone who isn't her) and of course, incredibly hot too. After the phone calls, she usually drags him to the nearest surface to make out with him until one of them remembers they have deadlines to meet. (Sometimes it's not too much of an urgency to get them to stop, though.) Bellamy's the same way, Clarke is delighted to find out, because his eyes always get darker when she's reading out parts of her dissertation (it may have something to do with the way her boobs look in her new bras too) and she's always interrupted by his mouth on her mouth, on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, his hand always hovering near the button to her jeans or the clasp of her skirt or the waistband of her sweats but never dipping under, which both frustrates her and makes her like him even more for not pushing her, even though she thinks sometimes she'd just let him fuck her then and there, no matter where they were.

There's also the fact that they deliberately have lunch together most days, when she doesn't have classes that conflict or Bellamy doesn't have meetings to attend or doesn't need to write his book. Sometimes he'll show up at her door with food or offer to cook or she'll already be at his place, hair drawn into a messy braid and pointing to the takeout she's ordered for them. He never asks if they're dates, though. For all intents and purposes, the only change in their friendship turned quasi-relationship is how much more kissing they're doing (100% more). Raven gives her a lot of knowing glances too, which Clarke knows is her way of saying that she's dating Bellamy without putting a name on it, but she won't be cowed by Raven's insights. Clarke _likes_ spending this time with Bellamy in this capacity, in these new ways, with an change about them that they don't address out loud, because she likes setting the pace.

Moreover, she likes Bellamy more and more, something that she accepts as a fact but hates spending much time on the thought because it worries her how much she likes him. She's not even fully adverse to another talk about their relationship anymore. (Just a bit adverse.) It's not like she does it intentionally, but she can't help but think about how the last time she liked someone so much, almost as much as she likes Bellamy (and his awful jokes and his ability to pick apart arguments in ways that challenge a deeper discussion and his inherently giving nature and the way he twirls his pen when he's in thought), she got her heart broken. She knows she shouldn't, knows they're not comparable, knows that Bellamy is almost blindly honest about everything, but it just comes unbidden to her sometimes. Keeping it slow, letting herself accept how much she likes Bellamy, eases her worries, and she hasn't explained her reasoning to Bellamy fully yet, just bits and pieces, but sometimes he just _looks_ at her and she's sure he knows and gets it. (That's another thing she likes about him.)

 

\-----

 

**FEBRUARY 2016**

 

Clarke, by the grace of God, Word auto-recovery, a constant stream of coffee, and some very near nervous breakdowns, finishes her dissertation first draft five days before her deadline. Raven's taken to leaving the house this week to avoid Clarke's writing process, which can get quite eventful. Clicking save on the document (and subsequently backing it up to every destination she can think of) is honestly the greatest feeling in the world at that point.

"It is _done_ ," she proclaims loudly, swiveling in her chair to face Bellamy, who's on her bed flipping through a book. He looks up and grins at her, setting the book aside and wordlessly opening his arms for her. She eagerly dives onto her bed and fits herself right into the space he's offering her, nestling between his legs and curling up on his lap.

"And with five days to go," he says, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

She smiles at him, reaching out to tangle their fingers together before letting go and maneuvering herself so that instead of lying on him, she's straddling his lap. Pushing him back against the headboard, she wastes no time in kissing him deeply, his mouth opening up to hers immediately.

"Thanks for all your help," she murmurs against his lips, a laugh catching in her throat.

"I barely did anything," Bellamy insists, though weakly, because Clarke's trailing kiss after kiss down his throat, dragging her teeth across a sensitive spot she knows he loves. His breath hitches and grip on her waist tightens.

She snakes a hand between them, working on unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with finicky ones. Why did Bellamy decide to wear a shirt with malfunctioning buttons today of all days? Or buy it in the first place? Growing frustrated with the terrible buttons, she has to stop her ministrations and finally divest him of the shirt. His ensuing low chuckle makes her squirm on top of him, grinding down on his lap, his hardening cock pressing wonderfully against the seam of her pants. He makes quick work of her blouse (because she's sensible and only buys functioning clothes), leaving her in a thin white tank top. He starts kissing a path down her left shoulder, moving both the strap of her tank top and pink bra (she should've worn the black lace tonight, she thinks) down her arm so he can suck a mark in place of them. His other hand is on her right breast, already rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger, making her whine low in her throat and scrabble for her own leverage in the form of her nails raking down his back with every twist he applies to her nipple, every shot of pain and pleasure from his teeth as he's marking his presence on the top of her breast he can get to without taking her bra off.

"Bellamy," she gasps, rocking down on his crotch, feeling his cock against her, even through both their pants. She's so wet right now and she's not even getting enough friction to bring her down from the intense lust that's washing over her. "Bellamy," she repeats, maybe more than once in a moan.

He comes back into view, his mouth swollen and wet and a flush on his face. "Clarke?" He asks, deep and husky. Her nails dig into his skin.

"Take my pants off," she tries to say in a commanding tone which doesn't work as well when she's breathless and already working on getting rid of her stupid top. Her fingers catch on her bra clasp but finally manages to undo it, leaving her half naked. A wave of cold air hits her and her nipples pebble, but maybe that's to do with the way Bellamy swallows hard, his eyes darting back and forth between her chest and her pants as if he's debating whether to follow her orders or just telling her to wait so that he can pay proper attention to her breasts. (Look, she knows she has an amazing rack, but even if she didn't, she's believe it from the way Bellamy's looking at her.)

"Bellamy, _please_ ," and he finally tears his gaze away, turning his dark eyes, laced with desire, on her face. He looks amazing like this, hair tousled, mouth red, eyes focused just on her, wanting her. But he's still taking way too long and of course she can't rely on him to follow her orders. Impatiently twisting her hand down to the button off her jeans, she's ready to undo it and unzip them when his hand covers hers and he whispers, "Sorry, let me," right into her ear, sounding like an apology and a promise. She shivers and lets him take over.

He has to move her off him to get her pants off, something Clarke whines about, but he's laying her back on the bed, spreading her out below him and kissing her complaints quiet. She threads her fingers through his hair, tightening her hold on his locks when he finally gets his chance to lave over her nipples, rolling them with his tongue and making her back arch off the bed with every lick and twist. Her moans are coming frequently and steadily louder as Bellamy determinedly seeks to put his mouth on every inch of her bare skin. As a good citizen and quasi-girlfriend, she does her best to encourage him through the haze of desire she's in. Her panties are soaked and she can't summon up any qualms about it, not even when he's pressing his palm against the center of them, right against the wetness that's seeping through the fabric.

"Fuck," he says against her hipbone. " _Fuck_."

"Yes, do that," she says breathlessly, raising her head off the pillow to look at him. He is dazed and awed, his eyes meeting hers. He presses his fingers against her center more firmly and she lets out a keening noise.

She barely notices him peel off her underwear and toss it to the side, but she does hear him groan, feels him hover in front of her cunt. His bare chest is beautiful, his nipples hard and dark against the rest of him, his abs ( _ugh_ ) automatically drawing her attention to them but he still has his pants on, his cock pushing against the front, and Clarke thinks that's so unfair, him being half clothed while she's naked for him. She's ready to fix this injustice but he suddenly pushes her knees further apart and back towards her chest. She holds in a breath. She's already clutching at her sheets. He drops a hard kiss on her inner thigh and her mind goes wild at the thought of Bellamy leaving her a reminder on her skin.

"If I recall correctly," he starts saying, and it's a fucking feat to force her brain to focus on his words. "I haven't congratulated you yet." To be honest, she doesn't really remember what she's supposed to be congratulated for, her dissertation long out of her thoughts. He sounds so smug and wrecked at the same time, though, so she just nods quickly, her hair fanning out the pillow even more.

She's pretty sure she won't be thinking about her dissertation in the same way again when he parts her folds with a finger and then drops his mouth on her, his tongue snaking in and leisurely exploring. _Fuck_ , she thinks, the only coherent thought she has as he continues. Her noises are nearly a shameless level, a wild abandon, and when he starts sucking on her clit, she's pulled her sheets off the bed and urging him on with some nonsensical babble.

"Clarke, you taste so fucking good," he gets out between his rotations between her pussy and her clit. She doesn't care what he's saying, as long as he doesn't stop. While he's licking at her clit, he slips a finger past her folds, curving the digit inside. Clarke is distantly aware of how she's trying to get his face even closer, needing an extra pressure that is eluding her. Every so often, he lets out a moan he can't suppress into her, which feels amazing but still not what she's looking for.

"Bell --" She disentangles her fingers from the sheets and grabs onto his hair instead. He lifts his head up and his mouth is shiny and wet with her but this is the opposite of what she wanted when she called his name. "I need _more_." He nods, then smirks and she tugs at his hair. Cocky bastard. He's the one who's not delivering --

She lets out a long moan, his name caught on her lips, a scream lodged in her throat as he adds another finger and redoubles his efforts on her clit. Something he does with both those fingers, the way he crooks them, hits her at the right angle and his light application of his teeth against her clit pushes over the edge, her fingers grasping his hair painfully (it must be, for him) as she comes. When she blinks next, his face blurrily coming into her vision, he's staring at her with satisfaction.

"Hey," he says, tucking her blonde hair away from her forehead. He kisses her languidly, which she reciprocates weakly. "Congratulations on your draft."

Clarke groans out a laugh, hitting him softly. "Stop being so smug about it." He just grins, propping his cheek on her chest. She combs through his hair slowly and thinks about how lucky she is to have him in her life. Like, even aside from his fantastic mouth. He's just good with her. She hopes she's good with him too.

"Hey," she says, drawing his attention back on her and away from the calmness her fingers running through his hair evoked. "I like you a lot."

"I like you too," he says, caressing her side. She smiles, shifting her weight so that he can rest more comfortably on her. Her leg brushes up against his cock, seemingly still as hard as before. Her pleasant smile turns into a coy one as she presses her leg against his covered cock. A choked off moan escapes his mouth.

"I don't like how you still have your jeans on, though," she whispers, pushing him off her so that she's now above him.

"Yeah?" He asks, looking like he's trying his hardest to sound unaffected. "Are you gonna do something about it?"

She silences him with a searing kiss. "Stop talking."

 

\-----

 

Just because she's finished with her first draft doesn't mean her life becomes automatically less busy. It's a bit easier with someone off her plate, but she still has readings for class and they're in major preparation mode for the new issue. When she had started at the Review at the beginning of the school year, they were in the middle of the issue, but now that she's helping out with the start of one, there's a lot more to learn. She works more at the initial process, receiving articles and deciding what theme the issue will follow as well as the articles that will undergo a review process. They receive a lot of articles, some of them familiar and resubmitted from the last rejection piles, so it's a long deliberation process. Plus, she still has to make arrangements for the conference because – embarrassingly so – she had forgotten about it until just now, which was exactly what she had yelled at Bellamy and Miller for all those months ago. (She pretends she's been working on it for a while though.)

Okay, also Bellamy contributes a lot in keeping her life busy. But at least this is enjoyable.

 

\-----

 

**MARCH 2016**

 

Bellamy's leaving for a weekend trip ahead of the conference next month, something that apparently all panelists have to go to – Clarke didn't pay much attention to his explanation because he had been trying to explain while she was trying to sneak her hands past his waistband and when she had eventually succeeded, he'd given up on talking anyways – but he's been whining about how she has his favorite dress shirt held hostage at her place and how he needs it for the trip, so he's currently in her room, yelling about how disorganized she is. Clarke looks across at Raven, who's sitting at the table with her legs propped up and magazine in hand, and they both roll their eyes. If Raven, who actually lives with her, doesn't mind the mess, then Bellamy has no room to talk.

"Was this a part of your plan to keep this shirt hidden from me? Leave it in your room?" Bellamy says, brandishing the black shirt in his hand like it's a flag. Clarke rolls her eyes again, turning back to her reading. It's a good thing she still likes him.

" _I_ can find anything I need to in there," she says in a huff.

"Never had any problems either," Raven says.

He takes a seat next to Clarke, dumping the shirt on the table. "I've seen your workstation, Reyes, it's not exactly a paragon of neatness either."

"Stay out of my workstation, you creep."

"How am I a creep when it's right out there in the open?" Bellamy asks sourly. Clarke barely peers over her reading to place a hand on his thigh to quiet him down. She can tell he's going to be in a bad mood if he keeps going on. Sometimes it's a hassle to navigate Bellamy and Raven conversations.

"Bellamy, you're not a creep, Raven, you're very neat," she says as she finishes a page. "Everyone is happy and friends, right?" Their mutual grumbles of assent make her bite down a smile. "Hey, when are you leaving again?" Bellamy grabs the article she's set on the table and flips through it.

"5 AM tomorrow, but I gotta go have dinner with O pretty soon." Clarke wrinkles her nose at how early he's supposed to leave. He leans over to check the time on her watch. "I should go now, probably." He kisses her cheek as he gets up, grabbing his shirt triumphantly, and heads back to her room where he left his bag.

"Hey, text me tomorrow?" Clarke yells after him, not even turning around, just bending her head back and shouting at his back. He appears a few seconds later and kisses her on the mouth this time, a bit awkwardly because of the way their heads are positioned in the opposite direction of each other's. She hears Raven make a gagging sound loudly and she breaks off the kiss to wrinkle her nose at her.

"I'll wake you up at 5 AM," Bellamy promises and she knows he's not serious so she just tugs him down for another kiss, this one with heads and noses all aligned and everything.

"You know I won't even hear the phone that early," she says. "Okay, go before Octavia kills you for being late again. See you Monday?"

"Can't get me out of here fast enough, can you Princess?"

"I can't take the slights on my organizational skills much longer. I need a reprieve from you."

"Ouch. Yes, Monday." After another kiss, he waves goodbye to them, with Clarke watching him leave until the door closes. She's broken out of her reverie by a whistle from Raven.

"Thank God you guys are past your ridiculous 'oh we're not really dating but definitely dating' thing and finally accepted that you're really dating," she says, shaking her head.

"Uh," Clarke says, hoping that she can convey the right amount of confusion in just one word. "We're still not like officially together." She's told Raven this, from that first night when Bellamy and she had entered into this thing, and every so often after that because Raven, for some reason, kept asking about it.

One of Raven's perfectly shaped eyebrows rises an impossible height. "You spend all your time together. He's over here like every day. What you guys just did, all that casual goodbye kissing and talking about schedules, that's like serious relationship shit." A wry grin appears on her face. "And believe me, I know serious relationship shit when I see it." Clarke flushes, an instinctive habit whenever Raven brings up her previous five year relationship with Finn – the one that existed before Clarke appeared (she knows Raven doesn't hold any grudges against her, but Clarke still holds one against herself). Her words ring in Clarke's ears.

She always thought there would be a solid point, some obvious event that would tell her that she was ready to put an official label on what they were doing, had just assumed that it would happen one day – and now that she's actually thinking about it, absorbing Raven's words and applying them to everything she and Bellamy had done, she realizes that they were dating in all but name. Even from the beginning because she could never resist him and wanted to see him all the time. She feels herself blushing, wants to sink down in her seat, hide from how oblivious she's been about this, that she's needed someone to state the facts for her. For all the thinking she does, she's definitely terrible at connecting the dots.

 _God_ , she thinks, faintly. _Raven_ would _need to spell it out for me._

Raven's giving her a knowing look, as if she can tell why Clarke's been silent for the past few minutes. She grabs her magazine and gets up, patting Clarke's head in a very pitying way (Raven is blessed with many talents) before telling her not to think so hard.

 

There's a note waiting for her, taped on her bedside table, written in Bellamy's ridiculously neat writing, and she sits on the edge of her bed, a content smile growing wider as she reads on.

_do you know where I found my shirt? UNDER YOUR BED. Stop sabotaging me CG or I'll have to get payback._

_P.S. the shirt smells like you so now I know why you're stealing my things_  
_P.P.S. still think you should respect my property_  
_P.P.P.S. good thing I like you_

She thinks it for the first time, possessives and everything, _This is my guy._

 

\-----

 

It feels like she's keeping secrets from Bellamy whenever she gets a text from him that weekend, making little remarks about his colleagues or how much work they expect him to do and how boring it is and dropping in "I miss you"s, even though it's not anything bad. But she doesn't want to tell him over the phone – through text or a call – that she really wants to do this with him, wants to date him officially, wants them to be an _us_. Because it might not be a huge deal in the context of all the other shit in her life, but it's an important deal to her because it's Bellamy and Bellamy is important to her.

Besides, he'll be back on Monday and she wants to tell him in person then. In the meantime, she basks in the sense of contentment when she's on the phone with him and the feeling of joy whenever she thinks about him. It feels like something's clicked into place.

 

\-----

 

Clarke has a plan and she's going to follow that plan except she oversleeps her alarm on Monday and has to scramble to get ready for class, has to throw on some clean clothes she still hasn't folded from her laundry basket (maybe Bellamy was right about the messy thing), has to run a brush through her hair at the same time she's shoving a Poptart in her mouth. The late wake up throws off her whole routine and she doesn't even get a proper chance to look at her phone until she's in the building where her Cultural Depictions of War class is in. This is really all Bellamy's fault because he had kept her up late last night when all she had meant to do was ask him what time he'd be back but he'd coaxed her in his low voice, the one she _knew_ he reserved only for when he was whispering in her ear about all the ways he'd make her come, into a satisfying but exhausting round of phone sex at 2 AM. Bellamy better be dead on his feet too, she grouses a bit pettily.

The class is a waste of time and she's able to hide in the back the whole time, so it's not too much of a hassle, but she's still grumpy about waking up late and she's had no messages from Bellamy about when he's coming back, if he's already gotten back, and really, how hard was it to make coffee that didn't taste awful (shoutout to the Landes Hall coffee cart guy). By the time her professor finally dismisses them, she's more awake and less in the mood to snap at everyone in sight. However, she's still not very alert, which is her excuse for not spotting Bellamy leaning against the wall opposite the door to her classroom.

"Hey, Princess," he says to her left and her head snaps up. He has an easy grin on his face and looks really happy to see her. She blinks a few times because she can't believe it's him, standing here with his too-long hair falling into his eyes and looking incredibly well-rested and clean-shaven and still beautiful while her hair is tamed only by the ponytail holder, she's still groggy, and is wearing mismatched socks. Of course he would do this to her.

She huffs and makes to walk past him, causing his smile to drop, but he is able to catch her arm before she walks off.

"What, Bellamy?" She snaps, yanking her arm out of his grap. Hurt flashes through his eyes, but she doesn't back down, just crosses her arms and gives him an expectant look.

"Something wrong?" He asks, concern creeping through his even tone.

"Nope," she says back quickly, popping the 'p' because she knows Bellamy hates that. True enough, she sees the familiar cheek muscle tense. "Just really need to get somewhere."

"You don't have a class for three hours." She forgot that he knows her schedule.

"I have a _meeting_ ," she insists defiantly.

"Sure you do," Bellamy says, clearly not believing her, although how would _he_ know. She knows that she's just taking out her frustrations on him because he's conveniently there in the line of fire, but she's feeling tense and mad about him not telling her he was back.

"I do, now _excuse me_ ," she pushes past him, but he grabs her arm _again_ , which she shakes off violently. In a louder voice, an angry one, she turns on him, stares him dead in the eye, "Can you stop fucking grabbing me like a _caveman_?" Her raised voice catches the blatant stares of the people walking in the hallway, not even trying to disguise their interest in what they assume is a fight. Her ears burn at the attention.

Immediately, his face softens into an apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, did I hurt you?" Clarke sighs, but shakes her head. She looks around at the people who are still staring at them and grabs Bellamy's hand, leading him down the hall until she finds an empty classroom. She turns on the light and shuts the door behind them.

"Sorry," she mutters, avoiding his eyes.

"Clarke, is something wrong? Are you okay?" He asks, tilting her head so that she has to meet his eyes. He sounds worried and concerned, which is so classic Bellamy it hurts.

She runs a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes. "Nothing's wrong," she answers, which helps to lower the tension in Bellamy's shoulders. "I've just had a bad morning and you got caught on the wrong end of that. And you didn't tell me when you'd be back so I guess I was a little mad about that. I'll be fine later." She tries to give him an assured smile, but there's very little effort in it. Bellamy frowns.

"I was hoping to surprise you, but I guess that was a bad plan," he admits apologetically.

"I hate –"

"Ambushes, I know," he finishes. "I should've told you. Can I make it up to you?"

"Kiss me?" She asks, hopeful, and he tucks a finger under her chin and kisses her softly. She starts wrapping her arms around him to pull him closer, but doesn't prolong the kiss much more. She rests her head against his shoulder and sighs. "I missed you. I'm sorry I was so terrible earlier."

"You've no idea how much I missed you too, Clarke," Bellamy presses a kiss on her hair. She closes her eyes and savors the feeling, hugs him tighter.

"Good," she mumbles petulantly and she feels him laugh against her hair. They stand there for a few more minutes silently, swaying a bit back and forth in their hug. It's cheesy, but she already feels better in his arms and just being around him.

"Wanna go back to mine so I can show you how much I missed you?" Bellamy whispers and she knows he's leering in an exaggerated way.

She scoffs. "Ask me that without sounding like a scumbag and I'll think about it."

He laughs loudly, the joy and humor spreading across his face. Bellamy always looks good, but he looks even better when he's happy. His laughter opens a calmness within her, her own affection and love for him. That startles her into remembering her plan, which she realizes can be tweaked easily.

"Bellamy," she says, and he stops laughing gradually, but the smile's still on his face.

"Yeah?"

"I like you –"

"I like you too, Clarke."

"No, hold on, I have more to say. I like you a lot, like so much, maybe even love you?" She doesn't pause for effect or anything, doesn't wait for him to react, just keeps on. (If she had, she'd see Bellamy's eyes widen, not in alarm but a happy surprise.) "I just think about you all the time and I love spending time with you and I figured it out this weekend, I'm so sorry it took so long to do it..." She's rambling now, losing track of the planned speech she had practiced so diligently last night. She was supposed to list off reasons why she liked him, how happy he makes her, how safe she feels around him, but that's all tossed away now. She tries to scramble back to that template, tries to remember the words she had thought she memorized.

Bellamy tangles their fingers together. "Clarke," he says. "You ramble when you're nervous." Somehow, this makes her less nervous, settles her beating heart. She squeezes his hands.

"What I'm trying to say is, I want to do this dating thing for real now. Be official or whatever. I want to acknowledge an _us_." Clarke looks up at him under her eyelashes with an uncertain yet hopeful smile.

As his answer, he just dips his head down and kisses her again, harder this time, teeth clashing at first, but then falling into a natural motion. She whimpers into his mouth when he sucks on her bottom lip. When he breaks apart from her, he rests his forehead against hers. "I want to acknowledge an us too," he finally says. She bites back her smile. "I like us. I love us." This time, she doesn't try to hold back on her smile, even when she kisses him again, which turns into her and Bellamy laughing at each other more than an actual kiss.

 

"Was this an absence makes the heart grow fonder thing?" He asks later when they're in his bed, her tangled in the sheets and him propped up on his elbows looking at her. "Should I go away more often?"

She bites his finger. "Just start planning our first date."

"Technically, probably our thirty-sixth date."

"Did you keep _track_?"

" _No_. I just have a good memory."

"Sure."

"That's not a real –"

"Answer, I know. You're lucky you're cute."

 

\-----

 

 **APRIL 2016**  
**INDIANA CONVENTION CENTER** , Indianapolis, Indiana, Organization of Classical Historians Annual Meeting

 

The conference is as terrible as everyone said it would be, and the food is just as good (maybe even better) than everyone said it would be, and Bellamy definitely needed their support, even though he had denied the same.

He smashes it out of the ballpark, though, and Clarke feels the pride settle right next to her overwhelming love for Bellamy. This is her guy.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @ bestivals, if you feel so inclined! 
> 
> MEGA THANKS TO a bunch of people: Sara for listening to me whine about writing it and reading it and encouraging me to keep writing even when I wanted to chop my hands off, Sharon for being my constant cheerleader about the fic as a whole AND ESPECIALLY during the stupid sex scene, Megan for yelling at me when she read it, and Greta for actually believing I could write a ~34k fic.


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